


Absolute Zero

by littlemisslol



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: All of the AU, Alternate Universe, Baby Jack - Freeform, Canon Typical Violence, Family Feels, Gen, Jack being both adorable and a little shit, North being the kickass dad we all know he would be, Papa wolf North, but they spend most of their time laughing behind North's back, shit how do tags, starts with fluff but then everything changed when the plot nation attacked, the other guardians try to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisslol/pseuds/littlemisslol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkest of ages, Pitch Black attacked and destroyed a large group of Winter Spirits, killing all of them, but accidentally leaving behind an infantile Jack Frost in his wake. North then finds said baby Jack and raises him as his own. However, bringing joy to children and being a parent to one are two very different things.<br/>So basically it's Jack being adorable and North kinda sucking at the whole dad thing. And then plot happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And then Suddenly A Baby

**ABSOLUTE ZERO**

**CHAPTER ONE: IN WHICH THERE IS A BABY AND BLOOD, BUT NOT PARTICULARLY IN THAT ORDER**

Nicolas St. North was a guardian, through and through. He liked to consider himself a guardian of all things,not just the children he held so dearly, but to anyone who needed a friend, who needed help. The large Russian was no stranger to being cast out in the cold, and thus had long ago pledged that no one would ever have to go through the same while he still stood.

However, there were certain people he'd never, ever, in a _million years_ even think would ask his help. Not because he wouldn't give it, but because of pride and (dare he say) vanity stilling their hands.

The Winter Court was chock full of these people.

So, with Christmas only a few short weeks away, when North was at his busy and stressed, the frantic call for help he received by way of North Wind, he could hardly believe it. Winter's soldiers were considered the strongest, led by their king, General Winter. The Court was a figurehead for many magical communities, yet it was a very tight knit group that hardly ever accepted outsiders, let alone beg for aid from them.

Yet here he was, sitting precariously out of his office's open window, one hand holding fast to the windowsill while the other was cupped around his ear, listening as the wind screamed and hollered in a way that made it seem almost human.

_Help them, help them, help them, help them, they're falling, they're falling, help them, help them, so much blood, they're falling, HELP THEM!_

The mantra was repeated over and over, the wind shrieking at a breakneck pace, even as North moved back inside and carelessly slammed the window shut in his wake. The Russian stormed down the halls of Santoff Claussen, barking orders at the Yetis as he went. Somehow his swords came to him, as did his massive red coat, as he at last got to the main room of his workshop.

The Globe spun as it always did, its presence domineering, though North never failed to notice that the lights had been much less in number than pervious centuries, damn these dark ages. Pitch would be having a field day, North muses, spreading his nightmares with the same amount of self control as a child with candy.

The wall of a man tugged on his beard in contemplation, trying to figure the situation out before he went barreling into General Winter's realm with weapons drawn.

Something was wrong with this, North thinks, very wrong. Winter's Court was strong, with every man, woman, and child being taught to fight from a young age. It's king was a seasoned General, and a fellow Russian, and it's Snow Queen was as deadly as she was beautiful.

For them to be calling for help... either they had finally met their match in fair combat, unlikely, or they had been caught so off guard that they had been swarmed by whatever had attacked them.

Or it was all a trap.

But if it wasn't, then an entire kingdom of people needed help. Vain, stuffy, prideful people, yes, but still souls in need of aid. Thus, his final decision was clear.

"Prepare ze sleigh!" He calls to the nearest yeti, who groans and drops the toy he had been painting. "We have emergency!"

And with that he quickly walks out of the room, grabbing one of his latest inventions on the way out. The small globe of glass sparkles in his hands, the inside shimmering like freshly fallen snow when shaken.

When the sleigh is finally launched, the wind pushes it from behind, urging it faster than it really should be able to go.

_They've fallen, they've fallen, there's so much blood, they've already fallen, help them, faster, faster, they've fallen, go faster, help them._

The tone of the wind is mournful, but the haste is still there, still pushing the sleigh as fast as it will go, until North is finally far enough from Santoff to try out the snow globe. With a shake and a toss, the portal is opened far enough that North has enough time to shout " _Antarctica_!" in his accented way, before both he and the sleigh disappear to the literal other side of the world.

Antarctica is cold and desolate, not to mention almost impossible to navigate due to the massive expanse of _white_ that it is, but somehow North manages, guiding the reindeer towards where he _really hopes_ the Ice Palace is. It's so cold in this wasteland, nearly freezing on a warm day, but North knows it's the perfect temperature for the Winter Court.

Now it was just a matter of _finding_ said Court when North could barely tell one glacier from the next.

Eventually North sighs with relief as he spots a black mass on the edge of his vision and spins the sleigh towards it. Eventually the spot changes to the shape of towers jutting out of a structure, and as details begin to form the closer he gets, he can eventually see that the entire structure is created from ice, lovingly crafted to the tiniest detail.

The wind continues to moan in North's ear, quieter now that he's close to the ice castle but still present. As he lands the sleigh it goes completely silent, North unable to hear even a whisper from it as he jumps out of the sleigh swords drawn. A quick look around shows him to be in the front courtyard, surrounded by glass like trees carved in ice and snow. Usually this would be the hub of activity in a place such as this, but the circular ice garden is silent as the grave.

This is what unnerves the Cossack the most, is the silence. Thus, with not even the wind at his side, he advances towards the castle and proceeds to enter.

What he is met with is, in layman's terms, a massacre.

The front room, which was something of a main hall if North were to guess, was littered with bodies, numbering somewhere around three hundred. All of them are mangled in some way, in that many are missing limbs and/or have holes stabbed straight through them. Blue blood, a trademark of the Court, coats the floor, still wet in its recentness, some of it even dripping from the ceiling from some poor bastard who'd gotten impaled on the chandelier.

North has seen worse.

So it is with heavy heart he lets his swords fall to his sides and strides forwards, intent on finding and eradicating whatever enemy had managed to wipe out such a warrior based society in such small time.

But the presence of black sand on each and every body and body part gives him more than a clue as to the perpetrator.

"Pitch." The Russian calls out into the silence of the halls, North knows he'd still be here, feels it in his , _belly_ an-

"He's not here anymore. Bugger cleared off as soon as he heard your jingle bells coming."

North whips around with the speed of a man twice his age, and gets his swords out in half that time, only to have the two sharpened metal pieces point at a figure in a dark cloak who is in actuality the only one who's supposed to be there.

"North." Death says calmly, holding up a boney hand, "We both know it's not your time yet, so why not put those away and we can talk like adults?"

North does just that, letting the swords once again drop to his sides. "What _happened_?" He asks, advancing further into the room and trying not to step on anything... or anyone for that matter.

"Pitch." Death replies casually, every once and a while stopping and sinking to their knees next to a corpse. "Pitch happened. He hit while they were all distracted. It barely lasted an hour before almost everyone was dead."

"Almost everyone?"

"Caught that did you? Yes, there's two survivors, though one's just about dead. But the other, he's not under my jurisdiction today, not for a long while actually. He's only about one and a half see."

"One and a half centuries?"

"Try days."

Needless to say, _that_ hits North like a ton of bricks. Death wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to, but North always made an effort in order to keep them, well, sane. They may not have spoken very much, but the skeleton was usually more tight lipped than this, and tended to keep the cosmic plan very close to his ribcage.

"I don't want to walk all the way back up those stairs," Death says, as monotone as always as they gesture behind them at a set of spiral stairs leading upwards. "So I'd recommend you go before the kid dies from exposure. Just saying."

And with that the Russian is barrelling towards the staircase, hoping to the moon he isn't too late.

As he runs higher and higher into the tower, North ignores the slight burn in his legs and the soreness in his lungs, because there is a child in danger and damn if North would let that continue for any longer.

Eventually he does hit the top, and almost takes the ice door off by slamming into it by accident. Gasping slightly to force air into his lungs, he slowly opens the door.

The room is obviously a bedroom, and from the care put into it it's most likely the bedroom of the Snow Queen and General winter. The large bed is ruffled and messed, and almost all of the furniture is upturned or broken. There's also another body, but this one is not nameless to him.

The Snow Queen lies on the floor as if she were a puppet with its strings cut, a pained expression and tears marring her usually pretty face. Blue spreads out from an obvious stab wound in her abdomen, staining her white robes. She's shaking slightly, forcing her hands onto the wound to keep the blood from leaking. However, when she looks up at North, all he sees on her face in hopelessness and sorrow.

She sobs quietly as he rushes to her side. He brushes a lock of her waist length white hair out of the way and helps her to sit against a nearby wall. She groans at the movement, and the wound gushes even more blue blood as she begins to slump.

"Nicolas St. North." She says with a voice like the chiming of bells, "You're a little late, dear. But I ne- _ow shit that hurt_ \- need a favor of you."

North nods, keeping her upright with one hand and helping her staunch the bleeding with the other. "Anything." He says in response. She's so small compared to him, not that she's short, just... dainty is all. Delicate. "What is it?"

"Check under the bed, and you'll have a better understanding."

He does so, making sure that she'll still be upright after he turns his back, and reaches under the bed, pulling out a small roll of blankets. A moving roll of blankets. He brings it back to her, gently placing it in her arms. She undoes the blue cloth with care, her eyes brimming with tears as a tiny sleeping face is revealed. North watches with wonder over her shoulder as she holds the sleeping child close to her and smiles sadly.

"My time has come, Nicolas, king of bandits." She says it frankly, acceptingly. "I am unable to fulfill the role of mother as I wanted to."

And then she pushes the baby at North which surprises the _hell_ out of him and he's honestly lucky he didn't drop the little thing and –woah its eyes are open. The baby blinks up at him and fixes North in their gaze, before gurgling and smiling as babies are prone to do. The child is so small, and cold! If the Russian didn't know and better he'd say the child was an ice block from his body temperature!

The Snow Queen smiles softly and pats his beefy arm, her hand barely covering half of it. "His name is Jack Frost." She says. "After my husband's good friend."

Jokul Frosti, North remembers. A good man. He'd fallen to Pitch a few years ago. It had been brutal, and North knows that was the point that the Winter Court had truly sunk into itself and stopped almost all outside contact.

The baby –Jack- ceased his giggling and began to wiggle around, but North just continues to stare at the little thing, the little life that is so small he could hold the child in one the palm of one hand and still have room to spare.

The Snow Queen pulls him from his reflecting with a pained gasp, and her hands that have gone back to holding her wound tighten around it.

"I need someone I know will care for and love him." Her voice is small but forceful. "And I trust you to, Bandit King. You have always wished for children but are unable to have any."

It was true, North had always wanted to be a father. So _badly_. But he thought it impossible with his immortality and magic to truly have a child of his own to care for and love and to be loved back an-

"Please." The queen once again cuts him off. "I don't have much time before I pass. I need you to raise him, raise him well. Keep him safe from Pitch. If that bastard knew Jack existed..." She leaves the horrors unsaid. If it's to save herself the breath or North's ears, it's unknown. " _Please_ , North?"

He looks into her blue eyes –so much like those belonging to her son- and then nods, slowly at first, but then with more vigor. Her face breaks out into a wide smile, and she thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Keep him safe, or I will haunt you to your grave." She smiles, before her final breath leaves her and her gorgeous blue eyes glaze over.

And just like that, the Snow Queen is dead.

North bows his head in respect, ignoring how the wind suddenly picks back up with fervor, launching a mournful tune all across the world as the final adult of the Winter Court dies.

With a sigh, North raises the hand not holding his new charge and closes those glassy eyes.

"Well, would you look at that." Comes a monotone drawl from behind. "North's a daddy. Congratulations."

North can practically hear the smirk but he's caught up once again in the feeling of a tiny, wiggling, _cold_ , little thing falling back to sleep in his arms.

Death peeks over his shoulder, and North can barely keep himself from curling his nose as a wave of brimstone reek assault him.

"Well, he is kinda cute." The skeleton says cheerily. "I'd never have expected the first immortals to actually pull off immortal child birth to be the spirits of winter. Good on them."

North chuckles at that, standing from the ice floor and curling his arm further around Jack, tiny, cold, little Jack. "I must return to ze Pole." North says, "Must inform ze Guardians of what has happened."

"But of course." Death says, bending over the corpse of the Snow Queen, and drawing out a small blue smoke from her mouth. Death guides the smoke around for a few seconds before dispersing it, sending the Snow Queen's soul to its well deserved rest.

North takes his leave, hiking down the stairs as quietly as he can as to not wake the child. The wind, once they exit the main building of the castle, is ecstatic at meeting its final surviving child, though it still keeps its mournful dirge. It gently wraps around the child, and Jack flails a bit in his sleep, a small smile adorning his face.

The winds tone changes ever so slightly and the wails of mourning and sorrow, though those elements do stay, are slowly drowned out by the sound of celebration and the tiniest glimmer of hope.

_Child, tiny child, so tiny must protect, you helped them, they've fallen but you got him, tiny child, perfect tiny child, so cute, must protect._

North troops over to the sleigh only to find his reindeer sleeping soundly, apparently having gotten bored in his absence. The Russian gently wakes them up and before too long the sleigh is headed homewards.

North throws a second snow globe, whispering as loud as he can for the North Pole before tossing it.

Jack is quiet for the trip, only waking once when the wind got a bit too loud. North can relate, as after so much excitement and change the Cossack could use a nap himself.

Yeah, a nap would be _really nice_ right now.

But first there was business to attend to.


	2. The Settling of Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which North begins to look ahead, and the Guardians find out what's been going down.

**CHAPTER TWO: IN WHICH JACK GAINS TWO UNCLES AND ONE AUNT**

The first thing North does upon his return to the Pole is set out the Northern Lights, calling the guardians to him with urgency. The second thing his does is hand Jack, still sleeping thank god, to Phil with the commands to renovate the bedroom closest to North's into a suitable nursery and to get the child into something that wasn't a blanket.

The third and final thing he does is up the protection surrounding the Pole to an eleven. It was already high to start with, but if the Snow Queen was right then Pitch would be keeping an eye out for winter spirits in order to finish his task. The thought of Pitch getting to Jack made North shudder, and thus, extra protection was a must.

Spells finished, North finally settled down into his favorite arm chair with an exhausted sigh. He was getting too old for this, he was. He had finally settled down in his study, a small room off the main workshop that was wonderful for planning and discussions.

And telling your teammates that you're now apparently a father, that works too.

Eventually Phil returns with a handful of laughing baby, now in footie pajama edition. The yeti is quick to drop Jack into North's awaiting arms, and in his garbled language informs North that the bedroom is in mid Reno, and that the Guardians are arriving.

Jack squirms around in North's arms, flailing around in an attempt to see more of the room around him. North sits comfortably, making sure to keep at least one hand on the baby at all times. North couldn't help the feeling that this particular child was going to be a handful, both literally and metaphorically.

On that note, was he even ready for something like this? Now that the gravity of the situation had worn off a touch, North couldn't help but think about the long term consequences to this agreement. Children were so vulnerable, so needy, and North wasn't sure if he'd be able to devote the amount of time needed to raise a child, let alone an _immortal_ child. Oh god, what if Jack turned out wrong? What if he failed and raised Jack wrong? What if North _broke him oh god he can't handle a child what was he thinking_ -

"So, North, what seems ta be th' problem?" A voice rings out through the study, generously coated in a think Australian accent.

North laughs, turning to look at E. Aster Bunnymund with a smile on his face. "Much has happened, old friend." North says, "And there is much to discuss, but we wait until others arrive, da?"

"Sure, sure, but- North." The rabbit's tone goes from teasing to surprised in a split second. " _North_. Where'd you get a baby?"

Said baby simply sticks a hand in his gummy mouth and coos, blue eyes flicking around the room in wonder. Eventually they settle on Bunny, only to flick back to North, then to the window, and back again.

"All will be explained, Bunny." North says casually, attempting to look mysterious.

" _Right_. But if I find out you kidnapped some kid and brought him here, I'm going back to the Warren faster than you can down a glass of milk, mate."

"Bah, you are no fun."

They exchange pleasantries for a while longer, Bunny making a point to not look at Jack for the entire conversation, even when Jack grows bored of scanning the room and goes to gumming his fingers and North is forced to make him stop in foresight of a bad habit.

Tooth arrives next, her slew of fairies following her every move as she flitters around the room at a mile a minute, poking and prodding at Jack who only flails around and tries to latch on to her arm in return. That in particular makes her nearly squeal, and North suddenly finds himself relieved of his armful of baby.

Sandy arrives last, though he doesn't show any amount of surprise or shock on his face when shown Jack, so North is forced to shove away the sneaking suspicion that the man of sand already knew what had happened in Antarctica.

Speaking of which.

"I am sure you are all wondering why Jack is here," North begins, not quite sure how to phrase that at least three hundred of the most powerful spirits in the world were dead. "The Winter Court was attacked... and defeated."

There's a collective gasp around the room, one of Tooth's teal hands coming up to cover her mouth as she does so, and then the barrage of questions begin.

"When?"

"Why?"

" _How_ , North?"

The Cossack sighs, running a hand through his beard. "Pitch." He begins, holding up a hand to stop the inevitable onslaught of anger at the mention of the Nightmare King.

"Pitch attacked while they were distracted, while they were busy. He swarmed them, and they were unable to compete. When I got there almost everyone was long dead." He pauses, not sure if he should bring up Death or no, but continues on anyway.

"I was looking for survivors when I happened upon the Ice Queen and-"

"Is she okay?" Tooth blurts out, quickly apologizing. North understood. Toothiana and the Snow Queen were actually quite good friends, what with them being two of the few female spirits around. Tooth's face falls at North's silence, and she quietly casts a downtrodden gaze at Jack, who pulls a face at her.

"She was alive when I found her," The Russian continues, "But she is no longer. I was too late and wounds were too bad. But she asked of me a favor. That I look after her newly born son."

All eyes in the room flick to Jack, and then back to North in shock.

"An immortal child?" Bunny says, shocked at the very idea. "But. Immortal children aren't supposed to be... they're an impossibility."

"Da." North says solemnly. "And yet here he is." The Russian relives Tooth of the baby, _his_ baby, and absentmindedly props Jack up against his belly so the child can get a good look at the room around him. Curious little thing, Jack Frost, yet another indication of him growing up to be a difficult child.

The others were bickering amongst themselves, mostly over what to do next. North was content to just sit back and let them fight whatever it was out. He was no longer in his youth, and in all truthfulness he wanted to go flop down and nap for a few hours. Jack mirrors his wishes, letting out a comically large yawn.

It isn't until the harsh ringing of an elf's bell rings through the study that all attention is turned to Sandy, who was glaring at them all and huffing in exasperation. Once all eyes are on him, the little golden man began his piece.

A golden snowflake puffed into existence above Sandy's wild hair, quickly turning into a tiny Snow Queen. The little image of the Queen began to cry over exaggerated tears, only for a sand moon to appear above her and begin showering her with it's rays. She then began to grow around her midsection, obviously pregnant, and the smile on her tiny golden face was as bright as the sun. The sand image then disappeared, collapsing in upon itself in a tiny poof.

The other Guardians looked at their oldest, before nodding.

"Should'a guessed Manny was behind dis." Bunny grunts, looking skyward.

Tooth gave a small smile, nodding to herself. "Eira always wanted children. I thought she had given up that dream a long time ago, but apparently not."

A silence descends on the group, all sinking into their own thoughts on what to do next. North slumps deeper into the chair, Tooth settles onto a nearby couch, occasionally whispering orders to her fairies. Bunny paces, hopping from one edge of the room to another. Sandy, North is pretty sure, falls asleep as soon as they all stop talking.

Finally Tooth sighs, looking at North pointedly.

"North." She begins. "I don't mean any offense, but are you sure you can even devote the amount of energy it takes to raise a child? Let alone the time? Jack's not like one of your elves, he's... breakable. All kids are."

"But zat is why we protect them, da?" North retorts, playing idly with Jack's single tuff of white hair. "I am not idiot Tooth, I know Jack is not elf. Much too cute." He accents this with a soft poke to Jack's belly, who in return flails around and babbles.

"Besides." The Russian continues. "I am best choice for replacement parent. You and Sandy are much too busy to tote around little one. Bunny, no offense, but I am closest genetic match to child. And Eira herself gave him to me. Jack is staying at ze Pole, and zat is final."

Bunny snorts at North's second point, but nods along all the same. "North's got a point." The rabbit shrugs. "The brat's mum gave 'im ta North, and hell if I'm getting in the way of that. I say North keeps 'im."

Sandy nods in agreement, giving North a thumbs up. Tooth sighs, but relents all the same.

"If anyone is asking," North says quietly, "Jack is my child from old romance with mortal woman. She died, and Jack came to me. This will be excuse for Jack being immortal, and maybe having powers."

The Guardians nod, the silent statement that nothing from this room would be repeated to anyone other than themselves go unsaid.

" _Now_ , my friends," North says, standing up and ushering them out of the study. "Tonight we celebrate, da? We have new child to baby and coddle, to heart's content!"

They all laugh at North's enthusiasm, and with that the tension leaves the Guardians as they all gather close to meet their newest family member.

***

Jack, for all extensive purposes, had been a tiny little angel. The key word being _had_ , even as North sighs for the umpteenth time before trying again to get the fussy child to _sleep_. The great Russian tries once again to set the child down into the crib the yetis had thrown together. Jack doesn't like this in the slightest, whining and making displeased noises all while he buries his tiny fists into North's white beard. The baby doesn't even reach the bottom of the crib before North gives up as Jack gives a particularly hard tug on the hair. Lifting the child once again from the crib, to Jack's infinite delight, North lets slip a curse in Russian as the child buries himself into North's red coat.

"This had better not become habit." The guardian of wonder mutters, sinking into a nearby chair with a great sigh. Jack smiles slightly, and North can _swear_ that the child is smirking.

But he still shifts Jack slightly, slouching into the plush of the red chair. It was a comfortable old chair, tall backed and sturdy, and _dang_ it was really comfy and- wait no, no falling asleep, he had to keep an eye out for Pitch. Even though the lights were on, one could never truly abandon shadow, and Pitch had the fear of so many powering him... no sleeping. Even if the chair was nice and soft and the fire was blazing and warm. No sleeping, North chided himself slightly, even as heavy eyelids slid shut and a stupidly loud snoring filled the room.

*** 

Death was a creature of schedule. They lived for timelines and fixed events, and for making sure that each life ended when they had to, as well as keeping time running smoothly. Death saw to everything, as well as making sure that certain things happened when they did.

The annihilation of the Winter Court happened to be one of those things.

Sure Death had liked them as much as they could like a group of sentient beings, but there was still the fact that they had to die in order for time and space to keep on chugging as it was supposed to.

Omelets and eggs, and all that.

But it still irritated the finisher of life when Pitch Black sauntered alongside them as they worked, happy as a clam if the shark like smirk was anything to go off of. The King of Nightmares followed Death as they wandered the ice corridors of the Ice Castle, the skeleton occasionally stooping to disperse a soul to it's next destination.

The two dark figures walk in tense silence, Death not wanting conversation –or company for that matter- while Pitch is unable to find a place to start. The hallways, much like the rest of the palace, were grand and ornate, detailed with so much care and precision by those who's bodies now litter it's grounds.

Pitch is the first to break the smothering silence.

"I have changed my fate." He states proudly, displaying teeth Death would so very much like to knock out. "I've killed them all, have I not?"

Death chooses to correct him on the wrongness of the first point, but not the second, if not for Nicolas then for the child in the guardian's care.

After carefully choosing his words, Death creaks his jaw open, and stops to look at the young –at least to Death- king.

"You have yet to change _anything_ , shadow man." They say blandly, "If anything, you have solidified your future."

Pitch splutters at this, glaring at the entity in front of him, his grey face switching from confusion to anger then back again, fluttering like a sparrow across the Nightmare King's face.

" _What._ " He hisses, stalking up to the cloaked figure he tried so hard to mirror. "What do you mean? You told me that I would be slain by a harbinger of winter, but I have destroyed them all! How can I be killed by someone already dead?"

"Time works in mysterious ways, Kozmotis. What is true one day can warp into tomorrow's lie."

Pitch sneers at that. Death feels the small joy of victory course through their bones because pardon their French but _fuck this guy_.

"Stop talking in riddles." The Nightmare King demands, stomping his foot like a whining child. "I thought you were on _my_ side of this war."

"I am on no one's side during a war; I am simply the aftermath of it all. And I like my riddles, so you can sod off."

Death re-enters the main entrance, still chipping away at the massive amount of souls to be dispersed and send on their ways.

"I always have my purposes." Death continues, waving a bone hand nonchalantly. "And you would do well not to question them. I say what I need to, no more no less. Do not think me an idiot because I will not play your moronic games. You are still going to die at the hands of a bringer of ice and snow, and as of now there is nothing that can change that."

"That's where you're wrong." Pitch hisses, slinking around behind Death. "Just because I have yet to kill them doesn't mean I won't. I will hunt them to the ends of the Earth, and there will be nowhere for them to hide, nowhere to run. I will destroy them, and you will be visiting _them_ first, not I."

Rant concluded, Pitch slinks back into his beloved shadows to sulk and plot.

Death scoffs and goes back to work, bending over the nearest corpse with ease, all while muttering "Yeah, good luck with that, jackass."

***

On the exact opposite side of the planet, Nicolas St. North wakes with a start, suddenly unable to shake the feeling of being watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doop doop I can't write accents: the story.


	3. Babies are Annoying but they're cute so...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North adjusts. Kinda.

**CHAPTER THREE: IN WHICH JACK IS A LITTLE SHIT**

Jack, despite his strange heritage, grows at a normal rate, much like a normal child does. North does his best to rework his life to surround this tiny bubble of laughter and energy, and after about a month a routine finally settles. For the first few months Jack does little more than make noise, cry, eat, and poop, but North couldn't be happier, as he fumbles around and eventually manages to get used to having someone needing his constant attention and love. The Russian has many fond memories of sitting in his office, carving at his desk, a small Jack Frost curled up on his lap, the child murmuring to himself and playing with a toy of some sort.

Jack grows a ridiculous amount in those first months; the shock of white hair sprouting up on his head is already becoming unmanageable. The child grows as well, and North now needs two hands to carry him as opposed to the original one. He also stays cold, which at first worries North, the baby was like an ice block for goodness sake, but it is eventually grown to be accepted.

But there is one thing North will always remember from those five months.

It goes like this.

North is walking the halls of the workshop, toting Jack over his shoulder as the child watches with wide eyes as yetis and elves pass by, the child occasionally waving the stuffed rabbit he'd chosen to carry around (and god had Bunny gotten a kick out of that one) at one of them . Stopping to speak to Phil briefly, North is shocked out of his conversation as said rabbit smacks into his ear, causing the white haired guardian to flinch and turn an irritated look towards the smirking –yes, okay, that kid is totally smirking even Phil can see it- baby.

Said baby blinks owlish blue eyes at North, and despite North's iron will it takes the whole of three seconds for the guardian to crack and smile at his ward.

Jack responds by grabbing handfuls of white beard, _again_ , giggling all the way. The owner of said beard winces at the tugging, but tolerates it as he says his farewells to Phil and wanders to Jack's room to put the baby down for a nap. Or to, at least, get Jack into the crib while the baby whined and cried until North snapped and picked him back up again.

Jack had learned very quickly that North was unable to deal with crying, and thus used it to his advantage whenever possible.

North carefully sneaks into Jack's room, now covered in toys and painted blue at some point, praying to whatever deities may be listening that he can put Jack to sleep and be able to get to work. Last Christmas had gone without a hitch, even with the sudden addition, but there was still work to be done and plans to be made. There was also the added threat of Pitch, especially since the boogeyman was at the height of power, but the Nightmare King had been oddly silent ever since the Winter Court had fallen.

North didn't trust it for a second, and all of the guardians had been on high alert for the past few months, North especially.

As quietly as possible (and maybe even more, considering North's size) the guardian sets a drowsy Jack down in his crib, stopping to place his rabbit next to him and pull a blue blanket over cold shoulders.

Jack, bless his little heart, keeps his eyes _shut_ and his breathing even, meaning that if North plays this right he can sneak out without an incident. But Jack, it seems has other plans.

The exact moment North's foot reaches the doorframe, a small voice rings out across the room, confused and whining.

"N...Nor?" Jack calls, and North can see tiny limbs flailing around just above the edge of the crib. "Nor?" The whimper floats through the room, and the Cossack can hear the tears dammit, but he's a little busy having a heart attack at the moment to really care.

Jack had _talked_. He'd said a word and that word was North's _name_.

North hadn't really thought about the whole... talking aspect quite yet. Thus, he hadn't really clarified as to what Jack would call him. Up until this point Jack had just been the little thing North had taken to carrying around with him, the cold little thing that _wasn't allowed to grow up_. North could guess as to why Jack had called him by his first name, seeing as everyone did Jack must have picked up on it.

Jack sniffles, and North is on autopilot as he lumbers over to the crib, leaning over to stare in awe at the pale child. Once North's face descends into his field of vision, all tears instantly disappear from ice blue eyes and Jack smiles, reaching tiny hands for North and wordlessly demanding to be picked up.

"Nor." Jack repeats, even as the floored Russian slowly reaches in and lifts him from the pile of blankets. The white haired child repeats his new word over and over, as children tend to do, and kicks his feet as North just stares at him.

The Russian quickly sticks his head out into the wooden paneled halls, calling for a nearby yeti, Edmund, to come and listen.

"I am not crazy, da? Jack is talking?"

Edmund, a light brown yeti on the shorter side of the spectrum, stares at Jack, who decides that _now_ is the perfect time to remain absolutely silent. North tries in vain to coax another word from him, only to be met with silence. Edmund slowly creeps back out of the room and into the halls, and as soon as the yeti is out of sight North can hear heavy footsteps running down the hall away from the room.

The guardian of wonder stares at his ice block of a child, who tilts his head in response. And, as if to spite his caretaker, Jack opens his gummy mouth and laughs at his guardian's funny face.

"Nor." He giggles, grabbing a hold of North's white beard and _yanking_ as hard as he can.

North, despite his inner frustration, laughs alongside his charge.

***

Jack is 9 months old when his first tooth begins to break through the gums. North spends the weeks leading up to this point throwing teething toys at him and having a heart attack over every small tear. It scares North more than anyone would guess when his kid just randomly starts _crying_ for no apparent reason and _oh god why is he doing that did North break him somehow_? Tooth eventually explains what's going on, but _god_ it scares the crap out of him.

Tooth herself nearly has an aneurysm at the fact that Jack's getting teeth, and is very happy to tell North that "His tooth is so _white_ North, you're going to have to teach him to keep them clean and nice so they stay that way!"

North takes great delight as, over the next few weeks, another tooth crops up right next to the first one, giving Jack a nice white pair of front teeth to bite things with. It's sufficient to say that Jack learns quickly to stop nibbling on his hands when bored, especially when he unknowingly bites hard enough to draw blood, sending North into what is totally _not_ a panic attack not in the slightest.

Bunny also gets a kick out of Jack having "rabbit teeth" and jokingly laughs if Jack's going to start eating carrots soon. Seeing as up until a few months, North had been using a powder recipe he'd found in one of Ombric's old books to replace a mother's milk before choosing to switch the child to mashed up carrots and other vegetables, North chose not to comment.

At this point Jack has managed to learn to sit on his own, and has begun to learn crawling to an extent. The white haired child can crawl on his own, yes, but only for short distances before getting tired. Besides, the little thing likes being carried by others rather than pulling himself to wherever he wants to go.

On the flipside of the baby's newfound moving abilities, Jack has also learned that his crib is, in fact, escapable, and takes a great amount of joy in leaving the confines of his sleeping area as much as possible. Reflecting his troublesome first night, Jack does. Not. Sleep. _Willingly_. Some nights North can manage to get Jack down to sleep with only an hour of fuss; other nights, however, North will be up until the wee hours of the morning borderline begging the child to lay down and sleep, usually right before snapping and falling asleep on the red chair (still as comfy as ever) with Jack settled down in the Russian's arms.

The first time Jack escapes from his crib is the night North nearly dies of a heart attack.

It was a calm night, sometime in late November when Jack is 11 months old, and everything had been working out well. Jack had gone to sleep with minimal fuss, Christmas preparations were going perfectly (as in they were actually _ahead_ of schedule for once), and all was well.

And then, as it must, shit hits the proverbial fan.

Wandering down the hallways towards his own room, North finds himself stopping in front of Jack's bedroom door. He shouldn't disturb the baby, he tells himself, he should keep the door shut and let Jack sleep for as long as he's going to.

Sound reasoning, all of it, North knows, even as he reaches out a hand and creaks the door open, just a hair, and peeks inside. The room is dark, but North knows the layout well enough that light isn't really needed, as the lumbering Russian picks his way around toys and books to get to the crib that is centered on the right wall, in between the most comfy chair in existence and a bookshelf that currently had more toys than books on it.

He's just here to check on Jack, North tells himself, no cuddling, no poking, no talking, _just checking_ , as he peers over the edge of the crib.

And then all of his mental functions promptly shut down in shock.

_Jack isn't in the crib_.

His stuffed rabbit is there, yes, propped up against the edge of the crib's bars, as is his plethora of other toys, not to mention a metric crap-load of blankets. But no Jack. No tiny little guy with negative body heat and an affection for smiling. No North's Jack.

North reaches a wavering hand into the bassinet, silently praying that he'll just move a blanket and reveal a mop of white hair and a pair of blue eyes. But no luck. Even as North takes out every single blanket and toy, Jack stays _not in the goddamn crib_.

This is the point that North goes from shock to a need-to-take-a-chill-pill panic attack.

The man quickly rushes out of the room, calling for Phil as he does so, despite it being was past the yeti's, let alone the elves', bedtimes. The brown yeti, who was justifiably grumpy at being woken up at nearly one in the morning, is quick to catch on to North's panicked state. Yelling in his garbled language, Phil quickly sends the entire pole into a frenzy, dividing the yeti's into search parties, and putting a ransom of two cookies on Jack's head to get the elves to help.

By the time Phil sends out the teams, one for each section of the Pole, North is besides himself with worry. What if Jack managed to find the more dangerous parts of the workshop? What if he got into the wood mill? Or the kitchen? Or, god forbid, the main electrical hub that powered the entire Pole?

These scenarios play through North's head, causing the Cossack to nearly faint in horror. Why did he think it was a good idea to raise a child in a literal factory? Good god, Jack was going to get hurt or maimed or _killed_! The Guardian of Wonder nearly dies of worry at the idea of Jack getting hurt because of North's inattentiveness, but he manages to aid in the search, barking orders to yetis as he passes.

"Check everywhere!" North shouts, "Leave no stone unturned!"

If his voice cracks somewhere in those sentences, no one calls him on it.

The Guardian works his way towards Jack's room, intending to see if any clues had been left behind. Once again in the child's bedroom, North lights a lamp with shaking fingers, bathing the room in light. North looks around the room, eyes glancing over Jack's crib, the bookshelf, Jack, the child's toy-

Wait. Back up.

Blue eyes widen in shock as they re-fall on a sleeping form, curled up on that damn red chair. North blinks, rubs his eyes, blinks again, and then sighs in defeat before sticking his head out into the hallway and calling off the search.

Adrenaline finally wearing off, North sighs quietly, picking up the frail form of his previously missing child. Jack stays sleeping, even as North re-deposits him in his crib. Tiny, cold hands latch onto North's fingers as the Russian tries to withdraw his hands from the crib, and North slowly replaces his fingers with Jack's rabbit, allowing the child to bury his tiny face into his blankets.

It's adorable, it's heart melting, and it's barely enough to keep North from being angry. Just like his yetis are going to be when he tells them where Jack was...

Well maybe North can stay a while longer.

***

Jack's first birthday is, surprisingly, a smaller affair, with only the Guardians present. North, usually a man who would throw parties for the simplest reasons, was itching to throw a giant shindig, but was only just able to contain himself. Pitch had been silent for the past year, which was about as worrisome as you can get.

However, North didn't let it get to him too much, as it was a day of celebration nonetheless. Jack would have many other birthdays, and when Pitch was tossed back into the shadows where he belonged, that was when Jack would have one of the greatest birthdays ever, due to all the pent up party-planning energy North was currently stocking up on, even as he sat on a couch in his study.

Jack, it was safe to say, had no idea as to what was going on, even as he sat in his yeti-made blue shirt and black pants, curled up on North's lap contentedly with stuffed bunny in hand. North was doing his best to direct the yetis as subtly as possible for him, as in he was booming his orders right across the workshop floor, when Tooth appeared.

The fairy squealed in joy when Jack smiled his (now four) toothed smile at her, and North was instantly relieved of his ward, as she enveloped the child in her multi-coloured arms and cooed at him, causing Jack to laugh and squirm as she poked and prodded at him while making small talk with North.

Bunny appeared next, flopping next to North on the couch, laughing slightly as Tooth fluttered around, Jack in hand, the baby squealing in delight at being up so high.

"Surprised one of ya's not dead yet." Bunny says jokingly to North, Tooth suddenly occupied with chattering to one of her mini fairies, all of whom Jack tried to catch at least once before they darted away. One, however, stayed behind for a bit to perch on Jack's head, to the infinite delight of the icy child.

North laughs at Bunny's comment as Sandy finally floats in, half asleep. After a half hour of small talk and laughter, Jack grows restless in Tooth's arms and squirms until he's put down. Tooth sets him on the ground near a desk a few meters from where North is sitting. Jack totters uncertainly on his two feet, using the desk to keep himself upright. All conversation stops as everyone looks to see what Jack will do.

Ignoring the silence, Jack stumbles to the corner of the desk, keeping one hand on it to stay upwards, until finally letting go of the table and taking a few wobbly steps on his own. The Guardians watch with baited breath as Jack slowly toddles away from the desk, heading slowly but steadily towards North's leg.

The owner of said leg quickly gets off the couch, crouching on the floor. Jack slowly gets more confident in putting one foot in front of the other, and manages to close the distance between him and his guardian. The white haired toddler is only half a foot from North when he trips, falling forwards, a burst of fear spreading across his face.

Up until North catches him, that is.

North beams at his charge, scooping him up in a hug. Jack laughs and squeals, wiggling in the embrace as the other Guardians laugh at the pair, clapping at Jack's achievement.

The party goes well after that, with Jack opening his presents and then promptly becoming more interested in the wrapping, followed by food and discussion. Jack gets passed around from guest to guest, Tooth constantly trying to grab him back because _he's just so sweet North, I want to take him home with me_!

Jack revels in all the attention, contented to be the center of everything. He takes great delight in trying to pull out Bunny's fur, attempting to catch Tooth's fairies, and to swat at Sandy's sand images, smiling the entire time.

Eventually the party winds to an end, Tooth and Sandy having to leave because of duties, and Bunny eventually leaves to give North an hour of peace. Christmas was once again coming up in a few weeks, even though time had passed so quickly after Jack arrived.

The child in question is currently curled up around his bunny, yawning and murmuring to himself. North smiles before gathering the cold little thing up, even getting the child into his crib with no fuss in the slightest before setting down his new presents (a kids dental care set from Tooth, small sets of warrior eggs to play army with from Bunny, and a bag of dream sand from Sandy).

North then heads to his office to clear up any last minute plans for Christmas, only to see something sitting on the desk that decidedly was not there when he left the office this morning.

Two things sit on his desk, smack in the middle, one a small box wrapped in unassuming silver paper, the other a long and thin branch, with an elegant curl at the top. As North gets closer, he can see a note set on top of the box. Picking it up to read it, he can see it's written in a harsh scribbled writing that would be unreadable, but North has had much experience with bad writing (from his yetis and children's letters both), and thus he is able to distinguish it.

_North_ , it says, _today I have heard it's young Jack's birthday_.

There's only one other person... entity... thing that knows about Jack, North smiles as the realization of who the presents are from hits him, before he goes back to reading.

_I know the mortals have a wonderful custom of gifting others with presents as reward for avoiding me for yet another year, and thus I have sent these as congratulations for Jack. Good for him. One of these is a socially acceptable present for an infant, and the other is something that is going to be ridiculously useful to him in the future. I'm assuming you know which is which._

_Hoping to not see you soon,_

_Death_

North laughs at the farewell, knowing the joke behind it, before turning to the stick and the box. The Guardian has seen this stick, no, this staff before, but only once, on the wedding day of the Snow Queen and General Winter.

The staff had belonged to Jack's true father, North knows, holding the almost flimsy piece of wood in one hand. It symbolized the Winter Court, Jack's birthplace. More importantly it worked as a direct connection to the snow and ice, amplifying any powers the owner might have over those elements. It had passed from leader to leader of the Court, going from (as far as North can remember) Old Man Winter, to Jokul Frosti, to General Winter. It was the staff of the king of ice and snow, no matter who held it.

And now it was Jack's.

North holds the staff gingerly, balancing it in one hand, before making the executive decision to hide it away until Jack was ready. It wouldn't do to give a child a source of nearly infinite power before they could truly walk on their own.

The staff would remain hidden, for now.

The other present, North decides, can be given to Jack tomorrow. Holding the silver packet in one hand and the staff with the other, North sighs. He knows exactly where to hide the staff.

***

Deep below the hustle and bustle of Santoff Claussen, there was a dark cavern of ice. North used this ice cavern as a source of the clear, flawless ice that he carved so many toys out of, lovingly and slowly. However, it also worked as a bunker of sorts, as in when trouble reared it's dark head the caverns would be used as a hideaway for elves and yetis, and even North. It was the safest place in Santoff Claussen, and thus the perfect place to hide the Staff.

Slowly picking his way to the bottom of the freezing cavern along small cuts in the ice to serve as stairs, North holds tightly to a bucket of water in one hand and the Staff in the other. In the Russian's hands it was nothing more than a stick, but in the hands of someone like Jack, a winter spirit, it could be one of the most deadly things on the planet. It was crucial that the Staff be put somewhere safe, for the protection of North, the planet, and most importantly Jack himself.

Once North hits the bottom of the cavern, he walks along the bottom of it, working his way farther into the dark and the gloom. Eventually he hits the very back of the cavern, and by extension a hole he had been chipping away at to create ice blocks ready for modeling.

North slowly places the staff deep inside the man-made hole, before covering it with nearby ice chunks and snow, before tossing the bucket of water at it, which quickly freezes over the Russians handiwork, locking the Staff in a tomb of ice until it would be needed.

Patting the newly formed wall, North nods to himself before heading back towards the ice steps that would lead back to Santoff Claussen.

Back to home.


	4. Tick Tock Goes the Clock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack grows, North worries, and shit happens.

**CHAPTER FOUR: IN WHICH TIME PASSES TOO QUICKLY**

Despite North's wishes, years begin to pass and Jack begins to grow. Those first few toddling steps are suddenly turning into Jack running full kilter down the hallways, screaming at the top of his little lungs, and that first word has turned into messy, but coherent, sentences.

Suddenly, Jack is _five_. He's five and has grown so much and North can't help but wonder where the hell the laughing little baby that refused to sleep went. That isn't to say Jack doesn't still avoid sleep like the plague, because he does, but now bedtime is fully of chasing and hunting down instead of cuddling and sitting.

North isn't sure which one he actually likes better, but whatever.

The Russian finds that one of the best things to do in order to get Jack to sleep is to tell him a story. North is a very good storyteller, anyone will agree, but even the best storytellers can run out of stories eventually. Which is what happened. Jack, still so tiny, still so easily bored, will demand a new tale every night, and soon North is scrambling for new material.

Until one day he finds some, right under his very nose.

After managing to wrestle Jack into his pajamas (blue and white, with tiny snowflakes this time), and after the obligatory chasing and dragging to bed, Jack sits on his bed (another thing that makes North feel old, the crib's left to be replaced with a bed when did that happen?), and the child begs for his story.

"Stowry pwease?" Jack says, staring up at North with owlish blue eyes, still not quite getting the hang of the whole talking thing. North nods, causing Jack to squeal in delight. The Russian sits on the bed and the younger spirit is quick to crawl into his lap, though he won't fit for much longer, before once again blinking at his guardian expectedly.

"Vhere to begin..." North says slowly, drawing out the words to toy with the child, who quickly morphs his face into a pout, making the Guardian of Wonder laugh happily.

"I have new story for you tonight, my boy." North begins, as pout turns to a smile as bright as the moon, "Is shorter story, but I think you like."

Jack settles down, curling around his stuffed rabbit, which was old and frayed but still loved all the same.

"Once upon a time," The Cossack begins, "Zhere was Queen. She was immortal, much like you and I, and had control over ice and snow, which is where she got her name, of the Snow Queen. She was very beautiful woman, with eyes like ice and hair like silver, but had long since frozen her heart over, encasing it in ice. Zhis was because of her magic mirror, which only ever reflected the horrible things in the world, and showed nothing of the good. She lived like zhis for many years, until one day she was defeated by two very brave children who destroyed ze mirror.

"After a long while of stewing in defeat, ze Snow Queen met another much like herself, in General Vinter, another snow spirit. He was as handsome as she was beautiful, but he vas just as broken as she because of zhe many hardships his family had caused. But together, over very long time, they managed to fix each other, she varmed his heart and he, hers. And zen they fell in love, and zey married."

Jack moves off of North, curling up under the blankets of his bed, listening with a transfixed wonder to the story, mangy rabbit clutched tightly to his chest.

"But even after marriage, ze Snow Queen vanted more. She wanted to have child. But as she was immortal, she vas unable to. So she prayed and called and cried, until one day ze Man in ze Moon called back. He gave her ability to have child, and soon she fell pregnant. Her joy washed through her kingdom, which was called ze Vinter Court, vhich she had built with her husband in Antarctica.

"But zere was great evil in the world, and it had set it's sights on ze Court. Only a day after the Queen had her baby, a handsome baby boy, Pitch Black attacked ze court."

Jacks face contorts in horror, and he shoves his face into the head of his rabbit. "Oh nooooooo!" He shrieks in partial fear partial laughter at the name, before peeking up at North. North laughs, patting the child on the back.

"The Queen's kingdom fell." North says quietly, his hand stopping on Jack's shoulder. "Though they put up a great fight, the Nightmare King won. He destroyed ze Court, and almost everyone. But he left the Queen alive, and she had hidden her son away so he would never find him.

"She sent out call, on ze North Wind, and someone heard. A toymaker on the other side of the world heard her call, and came to her aid. She was great warrior, the Snow Queen, but her injuries were too grave. It was too late for her, da, but not for her son.

"She gave the child to zhe toymaker, making him promise to care for and love her little one. And I have, for the past five years."

Jack's face scrunches up in confusion, before falling blank in surprise. North nods slightly as realization dawns on the child. Jack looks up at North, blue eyes wide with shock.

"Your mother was brave woman, and your father a valiant man." North says, "And I know you vill grow up to be much like them."

His mother was also stubborn as a mule and his father was rather overzealous when it came to war, but North would withhold that information for now.

That particular story quickly becomes Jack's favorite, and at last North has found a story the child will listen to more than once. It is both blessing and curse, as when Jack grows he begins to ask more and more questions, many of which North doesn't have the answer to. But it is better than having to come up with new stories every night, and for that the Russian is grateful.

North knew the best way to approach such an issue was to let Jack know his origins from a young age, but he had struggled long and hard on how to tell the child. How does one tell a child that their legitimate parents were both evil and crazy at one point, let alone that they had died in a bloody, grisly way that had also taken three hundred other lives?

North had thought for a second on calling Death to try and explain for him, but one thought of the skeleton's grisly and dark sense of humor, not to mention their apparent inability to pick up on _emotions_ , and that idea had been tossed out the window as quickly as it had been thought of.

Thus, in a last ditch effort, North had asked his fellow Guardians for help. Bunny had been absolutely no help whatsoever, the rabbit said they should just keep it a secret, which North could tell would be an extremely bad idea. Sandy had recommended waiting until the child was older, which was also a bad idea, because that basically meant stalling until it was easier to just not tell him.

Tooth had been the one to recommend a story.

"Children love stories!" She'd said, "It makes everything seem so exciting to them! It adds a sense of wonder to everything, don't you think?"

And if there was one thing North knew he was good at, it was wonder.

North finds himself seeking the council of his friends quite a bit, especially when he's gone into what Bunny likes to call "Crazy-Papa-North-Mode" which is total crap because _he's not crazy nope_. He calls on his friends for simple things ("Do you think Jack should be allowed chocolate at this age?) to important, end-of-the-world type deals ("Tooth, ze baby is on the ceiling and I do not zhink he wants to come down.")

...yeah that last one. That was a bit of a doozy, for everyone involved. 

A few months after Jack had begun to learn a very edited and child friendly version of his family history, the child's powers began to surface. It had started small, with Jack growing even colder if that was possible. The entire thing had escalated from there, with North coming into Jack's room to wake him up for a new day, only to find the entire bedroom a wintery wonderland with at least a foot and a half of snow on everything, and a very happy Jack Frost frolicking in the center, in the middle of building a snowman. 

_And then things got intense._

Because one day, North had walked in to get Jack from the child's nap, only to see the boy wasn't in bed. This wasn't exactly a strange occurrence, not in the slightest in fact, but it was where Jack was as opposed to where he wasn't that scared North enough to warrant a call to Tooth. 

Jack, smiling and happy as ever, sits contently, his rabbit (who had been eventually named Manfred, where Jack had come up with that North will never know) clutched to his chest, hair hanging upside down as the child laughs at North from his position on the _ceiling_. 

"Norf!" Jack laughs, waving Manfred at his Guardian. "Yer upside down!" Jack seems to think this hilarious, because the child proceeds to have a grand old time laughing at North's panic stricken face. 

"Jack..." North begins, trying to reach for the child but untimely failing, "How... why... how did you get up there?" 

"The wind!" Jack says, flailing his arms. "It picked me up and WHOOSH! I'm like the 'eindeer Norf!" Manfred falls to the ground with a thump, but Jack hardly notices. North however, shudders, thinking that if Jack loses his concentration the child could meet the same fate. The Russian manages to keep a calm face, trying to keep Jack calm enough to not lose his focus. North does his best to look casual as he drags the chair, their chair, towards where Jack is sitting upside down near the center of the ceiling. 

It's cold in the room, as in colder than usual, and North can feel a breeze running from the open windows, even as he tries to precariously balance on the chair and reach for the mop of white hair as the Russian can once again hear the wind whispering in his ear. 

_Hello tiny child, so cute, so perfect, wonderful tiny child, it's been so long since they've fallen, they're all gone but child's still here, perfect tiny child._

North curses his decision of making the ceilings as high as they are as he tries to reach Jack only to have his fingers be still at least a foot away from the giggling child. Time for another approach then. 

"Jack, why don't you come down?" North tries to coax, showing his biggest smile to the child. Jack gets a funny little look on his face as if we were pondering the idea, before smirking and laughing. 

"NO!" Jack laughs, standing while still upside down. North's face falls, then clenches in fear when the realization that if Jack falls then the child's _head_ is going to hit the ground first hits him. Jack, like all children do at one point or another, was currently in his "no" faze, and had yet to leave it (which was probably because of North's enabling and inability to deal with crying not that he'd ever admit it). 

Jack takes his NO and runs with it, refusing to come down even when offered cookies, a story, getting Manfred (who had been taken hostage) back, and many other attempts at bribery. Instead Jack decides to take his upside-down-life-threatening-party-extravaganza outside of his bedroom, bolting for the door that North had inattentively left open and running along the ceiling of the hallway while North shouted and ran after him in fear. 

Eventually they hit the _globe room_ good god, and Jack ran right up to the very center of the roof in there. Jack was apparently having the time of his life as yetis and elves alike stopped what they were doing to watch the borderline evil little child that had North wrapped so completely around his little finger. 

North wrangles four yetis into helping him try and get Jack down, but even the tallest ladder in the Workshop is unable to reach the pale child, who is having a grand old time mind you, watching all the adults run around like chickens with their heads cut off. 

Eventually North admits defeat, and calls in backup through way of a spell he had long since put in place that would allow him to talk to the other Guardians no matter where they were on the planet. He quickly pulls out an orb, not unlike his snow globes, and says "Toothiana," to it. 

The orb glows a soft purple before a tiny icon of a tooth pops up. The ball's glow fluctuates a few times before Tooth's voice can be heard from the other end. 

"North?" She asks, her voice tiny but clear. "What's happened? Are you and Jack okay?" 

"Vell, about zat..." North begins, watching Jack intently, who unabashedly stares back. "Tooth, ze baby is on the ceiling and I do not zhink he wants to come down." 

" _What_!?" Comes her panicked voice, "What do you mean he's on the ceiling?" 

"I mean he is on ceiling Tooth, what else could eet mean?" 

There's a silence from the other end, and North can practically see her rubbing her temples in frustration. 

"I _mean_." She begins tensely. "How did he get _up there_?" 

"Jack says ze wind help him." 

"Oh yes and Jack would be the expert on these things." 

"Well, he iz ze one on ze ceiling you know." 

That frustrated screech is totally worth any and all angry glares for the next week. At least. 

"Okay." Comes her sigh. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm in Canada, so I'm close enough." 

"Thank you, comrade." 

She scoffs on the other end of the line before cutting the connection, turning North's attention back to Jack. 

"Now you are in trouble, little one." North says happily. "Tooth is unhappy with behavior and is on her way." 

Jack brightens at the mention of Tooth, but blanches at the thought of her anger. "Nooooo..." He whines, sitting down (or up, whatever you want to call it) on the ceiling. 

"Da," is North's reply. "Either you come down now or she will force you, Jack. You will be on ground yet, is only matter of time." 

Jack looks ready to throw a temper tantrum, screaming and all, when Tooth flutters in through a nearby window, her game face on. Jack quickly attempts to scurry behind one of the rafters, but Tooth gets there first, grabbing the five year old around the waist and dragging him back to the ground despite Jack's valiant attempts for freedom and the chorus of _NOs_ that come with them. 

North lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding once Jack's feet touch solid ground again. Jack starts to wail at having his fun ended, but the return of Manfred quickly stops the waterworks. Tooth keeps an arm around Jack cuddling him close, before attempting to force his mouth open "just to make sure" he'd been taking care of his teeth. 

Jack accepts the impromptu dentist checkup with grace and only a few whines before he's handed back to his handler. Tooth waves goodbye, stating that she had to go check on a lateral incisor in Michigan, whatever that meant, and fluttering out the window. 

North sends an unimpressed look towards Jack, who only smiles sheepishly. 

So, as a whole, the child's powers were torture for poor old North, but a blessing for Jack. As soon as the child learned that he could make ice, _ice_ , wherever he wanted, Jack had begun to spawn it in deliberate places that he knew people would slip on it. Many a yeti had taken a tumble for the amusement of the hellion ice child, but North let it happen because of two reasons. 

The first was that the pranks helped to develop Jack's control of his powers, which was good. If the pranks were Jack's chosen outlet for all the extra energy, then so be it. Jack wouldn't be allowed to leave the protective circle surrounding the Pole until he was much older, or until Pitch was at last defeated. The Nightmare King had literally dropped off the map after the attack on the Winter Court, as if he were waiting for something. North had a pretty good idea that he was waiting for another winter spirit to rear their head. If Jack, now that his powers had developed, left the Pole then Pitch would be able to find the child. North knows it isn't the best solution, but he can't risk it. Can't risk Jack. 

The second reason the pranks were allowed was that they encouraged Jack to be _clever_. North himself knew that intelligence was all well and good, but cleverness was what won you fights. Not that Jack was ever going to be in any fights, hell no, but it was good to encourage skills that would be useful if a fight was ever brought to him without consent. North had enemies, plenty of them, and every once and a while they tried to attack North or those close to them. 

Again, it was for the child's protection. 

By the time Jack was twelve, North had tried many ways of teaching Jack the art of combat, from Bunny trying to teach the child whatever martial art he was always boasting about, to North trying to get Jack to use sabers. 

That hadn't gone too well. 

Jack was too... too small, to put it bluntly, to handle one of the swords, let alone two. Jack had tried in vain to lift the saber, only to have the chunk of metal thunk to the floor awkwardly. The winter sprite was small and thin, made for dodging attacks and for using magic to fight his battles. Jack was becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to fight like the Guardians, and became more and more hostile about the matter. 

It is then that North decides to bring the Staff he had hidden eleven years ago back to light. 

So, in the dead of night, North wakes Jack and forces the twelve year old to follow him deep into the caves under Santoff Claussen. 

Jack floats behind North, still running sleep from his eye. 

"Why're we here." Jack whines, "It's late and I'm tired." 

North chuckles but forces the boy to follow him nonetheless. "Is mystery." He tells Jack, hoping to pique the child's interest. Which it totally does, seeing as all traces of sleepiness instantly leaves Jack's eyes and the questions fire at a mile a minute. 

"Where're we going? Why are we so deep in the caves? Are you doing another midnight carving thing again?" 

North just shakes his head and leads Jack down the stairs of ice. Once they hit the bottom, Jack sways slightly, holding his head. 

"Oh man," He murmurs, "What the heck is that?" Jack quickly rushes ahead of North, who makes no move to stop him as the child runs farther into the gloom of the cavern. North knows what the heck that is, even as he hefts the ice pick over his shoulder and follows his ward into the dark. 

Jack is pressing his face against the ice of the wall, right against where the staff would be. His hands are splayed out, and his blue eyes are scrunched shut. 

"There's something in there." He whispers to North, turning to face his guardian apprehensively. North smiles slightly, motioning for Jack to move. The winter child quickly gets out of the way as North brings the ice pick high and lets it fall on the ice. It cracks and shatters spectacularly, falling to the ground with a clatter that echoes through the cavern. 

"Jack." North begins, looking at the white haired child who was still so young, so small. "You remember your parent's story, da?" North had eventually gone into detail about Jack's past, though it hadn't exactly been a happy conversation. 

"How they were both crazy and now they're dead? Yeah, I remember." Jack responds, and North's not sure if that was overtiredness or if Jack's becoming a sullen teenager. God he hopes it's the former; the latter might just kill him. 

The Russian reaches a hand into the ice tomb he had sealed himself and grabs the borderline frail piece of wood inside. The Staff is covered in a thin veil of frost, and North's hand dwarfs it easily as he brings it out of it's tomb and into the light. 

Jack stares at the staff, confused, before turning an unimpressed look to his surrogate father. 

"You brought me down here," Jack says in irritation, "For a _stick_. It's a nice enough stick, North, but really?" 

North only laughs before flipping the staff's handle towards Jack, motioning for him to take it. Jack looks at his guardian like the man's gone mad, but takes the power conduit nonetheless. As soon as his fingers make contact a powerful rush of wind runs through the cavern sending ice and snow flying. Jack himself lets out a startled shout and drops the staff as if it had burned him. The wind instantly dies, leaving silence to reign in the caves again. Jack gasps for breath, leaning against the wall to support himself. 

"What. What was that?" The child gasps, looking at the Staff in curiosity and only the slightest hint of fear. He turns a stunned face to North, letting the question ring through the air between them. 

"Zat." North says quietly, "Was your birthright. Eet belonged to your father." 

Jack stiffens at the mention of General Winter, looking at floor like it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. North sighs slightly, but continues with his explanation. 

"Zhink of eet as an amplifier for powers." North says, plucking the staff from the ground. "Like a magnifying glass focuses sun's rays, staff allows for better concentration of power to be used. Eet works as connection to snow and ice, making attacks much stronger and allowing for better control. It belonged to many different Winter Spirits before you, the latest of which was General Winter. But he is dead, as are all others, and thus it falls to you." 

Jack stares at the staff less apprehensive now, more intrigued. "So it makes me more powerful?" The child asks, fingers twitching in an urge to try and take it again. 

"Da." North says calmly. "But ees powerful magical artifact, _not_ toy. Is older than we can even comprehend, and must be treated with respect." 

Jack nods along, and North's not sure the child has gotten a good grasp on how huge this is, but still holds the staff out to his child nonetheless. Jack reaches forwards slowly, before grabbing the staff quickly, as if to do so before he changed his mind. 

The second time his hand makes contact with the wood, the wind starts up again, though less intense than the first, and Jack holds the staff lightly at first before using both hands to hold it tightly. Jack looks positively giddy as he begins to hover above the ice floors of the cavern. North laughs loudly, gesturing for Jack to follow back up to Santoff Claussen. 

*** 

Jack eventually stops aging, to North's relief. Three years after he was gifted his staff Jack's aging process slows to a grind before stopping all together, thus sticking Jack Frost as eternally fifteen years old. Smack in the middle of puberty. 

_Oh joy._

Jack's powers grow exponentially as the time passes, especially as the staff magnifies what was already developing, kicking Jack's power levels to an eleven. 

However, with these new powers, and with his new control over them, Jack becomes cocky and boisterous; something North has tried countless times to verbally smack out of the child, with no success. Suddenly Jack isn't listening to North, suddenly he's ignoring the rules and sneaking out of the main building of the Pole, skirting along the edge of the protective barrier as if it were a game. 

The Arctic Circle is the exact border where North's protective spells stop being effective. If Jack were to cross those barriers, then he would be open and vulnerable to detection, and thus to attack. 

And we just can't have that. 

Jack treats it like a game, even though his fooling around is causing North to stay awake into the wee hours of the morning and rip out chunks of his hair in worry. Like it or not, at some point Jack became the most important thing to North on this planet, and nothing is going to harm a single white hair on his head if North's still breathing. 

Maybe even if he's not, but the former is preferable. 

Eventually Jack's fun becomes serious, and somewhere around 1865ish is when Jack begins to rally for his freedom. 

"But North!" Jack whines in that way teenagers have perfected, "I want to see what it's like outside!" 

"You have been outside." North says gruffly, not looking up from the sculpture he's carving, picking away at the ice a little more violently than is necessary. 

"Yeah, but not like _outside_ , outside. I've never even left the Pole, North!" 

"And you are knowing why." 

"Pitch has been quiet forever, why can't I just go out for a tiny bit?" 

"Because." 

That answer seems to light a fire under Jack, and the argument turns nasty and vicious up until the ice child storms out in a huff, flying out the window with the wind at his heels. North sighs somberly, but goes back to chipping at the block. Jack will come back eventually, once he blows off some steam, and North'll be apologetic and they'll have cookies and all will be good.

And Jack does and North is. 

They never speak of going outside again. 

Until Easter Sunday three years later. 

On Easter, Jack is running around the Pole and causing chaos as he likes to. Teaming up with the elves to raid the kitchens, tripping up the yetis, and generally being a hooded hellion, Jack is having a particularly good day even as Phil chases him down the corridors. 

Jack laughs and puts on a burst of speed around a corner, nearly taking out poor old Edmund in the process, before ducking into a nearby door to hide. Jack gently closes the door behind him, clutching his staff to his chest as he wills his breaths silent. Phil's footsteps thunk past the door, stopping for a second and nearly giving Jack a heart attack before kicking off again. Once he's sure Phil has moved on, Jack lets out a breathy sigh, sending a cloud of cold air into the room. 

It's a room Jack knows well, North's personal study. Where his guardian actually is, Jack does not know, but North only uses this room for social gatherings and Guardian meetings that Jack was always locked out of, so in all Jack should be able to lie low for a bit in here before anyone comes looking for him. 

Jack leans his staff against one of the red couches before flopping down onto it, his touch bombarding the fabric with delicate frost. As energetic as Jack prided himself to be, even the highest of sugar-rushed ADHD toddlers eventually had to crash for a bit. 

With a groan he rolls over on the couch, allowing him to get a good look at the study. It's a round room with a large bay window behind a large oak desk. Two couches separated by a table stand in the center of the room with side tables flanking them. _Booooooooooooooooring_. 

Bright blue eyes flick over to the desk, which is mostly clear. Mostly being the key word. 

On top of the desk is a globe of glass, small enough for Jack to hold in the palm of his hand though large enough to not fit in his pocket, full of glittery powder looking stuff that draws Jack's attention like a moth to flame. 

It's one of North's snow globes, Jack knows, but he also knows he's been told to never _ever, ever, ever_ use, touch, or look at funny. So of course he picks it up. And of course he begins to inspect it, turning it in one pale palm while keeping a death grip on the orb with spindly fingers. It's... it's _pretty_ for lack of a better term. Colours swirl and change as light filters through the glass and sparkles. 

Reaching blindly behind him with the hand not holding the globe, Jack flails around for his staff, eventually finding it and bringing it closer to himself as a sort of comfort, like a naughty child hugging a stuffed toy when caught in the wrong. 

Then, silence explodes outwards. 

A large crash comes from right outside the office, scaring Jack out of his wits. The child flails with a small shriek as yetis curse in their garbled language outside the door. 

But even that doesn't mask the subtle plink, plink, plink of glass on wooden flooring. Jack looks on in shock at his now empty hand and the snow globe bouncing along the floor towards the door. The sprite dives for the globe, yelling in distress, even as the orb explodes outwards in a flash of colour of light and sound and magic, encompassing Jack and drags the child, Staff and all, into the portal within. 


	5. And All the Years They Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doop doop Pitch is a drama llama, Jack is pretty much scarred for life, and Bunny just wants to finish Easter.

**CHAPTER FIVE: IN WHICH SNARK IS EXCHANGED AND MURDERS ARE ATTEMTPED**

Jack shrieks as he's dragged into the portal, the magic twisting and warping around him from the nice pastel pinks, blues, and greens into a shimmering black. Blue eyes dart around in a panic, even with limited experience Jack knows that the portals, for one, were supposed to be a much nicer colour set than this one is, and two, were supposed to be instantaneous, getting from point A to point B with only a few seconds difference.

So when the portal finally spits him out after half a minute of flying through the magic tunnel from hell, Jack's not expecting flowers and parades.

He's not disappointed.

The portal spits him out into an intense light. Holding up a hand to shield himself from it, Jack barely registers that it's the sun even though it's much brighter than it ever was at the pole, especially as he curls his fingers into sand, sand, and the sounds of gentile waves lapping at a shore surround him.

The North Wind says nothing, silent as the grave. Was it even here? Jack wonders as he gazes around in shock at trees and pristine beach surrounding him as a wave of intense heat (how was it possible to get this hot? Even in the too-warm kitchen at the Pole Jack had never felt this crazy amount of heat!) smacks into him like a ton of bricks.

The Winter Child shudders to himself, shakily getting to his feet, bare toes sliding in the sand underneath them. He brings his staff (and the minuscule amount of blessed cold that it brought with it) closer to his chest, taking a breath of _too warm too sticky too burning_ air to steady his nerves.

He was outside. He was outside and he _didn't like it_. Jack wants to go home, and he wants to go home bad as the sun beats down on him, ridiculously warm and bright. He feels like crawling into a nice dark hole for a while to freeze over again.

But that was going to have to wait, as a loud voice booms from behind him and the sky suddenly goes black above him.

" _Nicolas St. North,_ " The voice hisses, sending chills up Jack's spine, "Prepare to meet your do- wait."

The shadows around Jack twist and warp, molding together in front of the terrified ice child. Jack shrinks back, having never encountered any other spirits other than the Guardians beforehand. The darkness grows thicker, raising up in an almost tar like glob that drains away to reveal a ghost like, thin figure, smiling at Jack with way too many teeth.

The man, or was it even a man? He seemed much too... out of place. Like someone had tried to stitch a bunch of shadows together and brought them to life. The shadow's eyes blaze gold, and his smile is a stark white against the grey pallet of his skin. His face is contorted into a sneer that looks perfectly at home, and his hair is slicked back in a way that somehow makes him look even more terrifying. Unnatural.

"Who are you?" The man drawls, bowing forwards to get into Jack's space, even as the child sinks back, nearly cracking his spine in an attempt to lean away, staff clutched in a death grip.

But, despite the overwhelming terror that's currently doing it's best to worm it's way into his mind, Jack still straightens his back, just like North taught him, and opens his big fat goddamn mouth.

"Who are you?" Jack says obnoxiously, mimicking the guys British accent.

"I asked you first." The man of shadows responds childishly, trying once again to get the teenager to back down. Which he doesn't.

"I asked you second." Comes Jack's reply, going so far as to make a jab at the guy's chest with the curved end of his staff, never touching however, unless he wants the guy frozen. Which isn't sounding like a horrible option, at this point, but you know what Jack is already going to be in deep crap when he gets home, it's not like he wants to add _pissed off the boogeyman and got himself exposed_ to the list as well.

Because Jack knows who this shadow man is. He's heard horror stories since he was very small, all of them of the boogeyman destroying the Winter Court and all it's occupants.

Yes, Jack knows who this is. But Pitch Black doesn't know that. So, the fake naiveté was probably the best way to go in this situation.

"I am Pitch Black, perhaps you've heard of me?" The Nightmare King says in a self congratulatory voice, his tone bordering the line between _pompous asshole_ and _stuck up dickbag_.

So Jack had picked up a word or ten from Death on one of their visits, so sue him.

Pitch leans forwards into Jack's space again, smirking with his sharky smile. Jack does his best to back off, leaning backwards as he does his best to come up with a believable lie.

"I'm Jack," is what he comes up with. _Genius_. Pitch's grin gets wider, the creep, as the shadow man begins to slowly circle the child. Jack takes a deep breath trying so hard not to panic and flip his shit, but it's getting harder every second.

"So then Jack," Pitch says, wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulders, which tense under his touch. "How are you liking the southern part of America? It's a little... warm for my tastes, but I'm sure you're able to handle it."

A grey hand picks at the thin layer of frost that covers Jack's hood, and Jack knows he's been found out and dammit like that wasn't going to happen. Jack sighs slowly, exhaling a breath he wasn't aware he was breathing.

Before whipping around and smacking Pitch right in the jaw with his staff and running like a mother in the opposite direction.

Jack doesn't take the time to appreciate the satisfying crack his hit makes, nor does he stop when he hears Pitch's outraged shriek, even when he can hear the sound of hooves thundering behind him and feels the breath of nightmares on the back of his neck.

He doesn't stop when he passes a "Welcome to New Orleans" sign. He runs until he can't breathe right and then he runs some more, bare feet pounding against the pavement, the North Wind's presence, and thus his ability to fly, sorely missing.

Eventually he hits a city, but doesn't have the time to marvel at the buildings that seemed to scrape the sky as he bolts, invisible, through the streets. People pass by, unknowing, as Jack passes through them (and each one gives such a shock of cold and loneliness that Jack almost stops). The sprite tries in vain to lift off the ground, but only ever gets a foot or two off the cobblestones without the Wind's help.

Jack's heart pounds in his ears, beating so loud he can hardly hear the Nightmare's hooves hammering the ground behind him. Panting heavily ( _he'd never had to legitimately run away from something before, never had to run for his life before_ ) Jack makes a heel spin turn, dodging into a shadowed alley.

Bare feet leap over fallen trash and bins, but are forced to skid to a stop lest Jack goes careening into the solid brick wall that rises to meet him at the end of the alley. His blue eyes widen in panic and fear as he once again tries (and fails) to fly.

He'd just wanted to go outside.

He'd just wanted to play.

He never thought it would happen like this.

A horse's snort echoes through the alley. Jack's breath hitches in his throat as he slowly turns around, gripping his staff in both hands and shakily getting into a position to fire. It's so warm in this damned country, his attacks won't do anything and Jack knows it, but it's a simple comfort.

"S-stay back!" He shouts, voice cracking in fear, meekly lifting a shaking stick towards the Nightmares that seem to choke the light from the alley. The air around Jack, and even if neither immortals know it the entire city, begins to steadily drop, quickly nose diving in response to Jack's panic.

A smile of razors flashes from the shadows, and a sickening cackle drifts through the alley, Jack shudders, a chill running up his spine. He shakily waves his staff in a semicircle, back flat against the wall, trying to pinpoint where Pitch was hiding with little success.

"So, Jack." Pitch's laugh swirls around the panicking boy, bodiless. "I've been looking for you for a long time..."

***

The Pole was in chaos. Apparently some of the elves had gotten into the more dangerous of tools, and all production had to be shut down so that the yetis could wrangle them all before serious damage could be done. Toy production had been set back a good half day, and at least three of the elves had conspired to trip poor old Edmund, who had been carrying three and a half cans of paint. When the yeti had tripped, he'd sent reds, greens, and blues flying, splattering all over the hallway and North's Study's door and setting off one of the broken Snow Globes North had hidden in there to look at later. They'd been acting up lately, pulsing with off energy, and North was quick to separate them from their working peers lest it be intentional tampering and not a fault in North's magic. The traces of nightmare sand on them was definitely pointing towards the former as opposed to the latter.

After a hefty amount of cursing and cleaning the worst of the damage had been fixed, and it was only now that North was allowed to go back to his carving.

The Russian picks at an ice dollhouse, masterfully sculpting out the roof, slowly detailing the little house with gentle taps with hammer and chisel. It's nice and quiet in his office, and North is finally able to relax for once.

Until someone had to scare the everliving shit out of him, of course.

"North." A monotone voice says from the shadows thrown by North's lamp. Said man jumps at least a foot in the air, taking a good chunk out of dollhouse roof with him. Cursing, North looks up as a black cloaked figure steps into view, seemingly from nowhere.

"Don't worry," Death says in a nonchalant manner, "I'm not here on business. Just... visiting."

Oh. Oh _hell no_ that was suspicious. North knew for a fact that no matter how chummy Death and he actually were with each other that Death was too anal about their schedule to take time out and visit on a whim. Something was so up. But it would be rude to just out and say it.

"Not a problem, comrade!" North laughs, standing and offering a cookie he knows will be declined. He's not disappointed, even as Death taps the end of their scythe against the floor repeatedly, like one would tap their foot. They're itching to tell North something, it was just a matter of waiting for the vague skeleton to actually get to it. But not this time.

"North I'm going to be blunt right here." Death says, tenting their boney fingers. "We've got... a problem. Like a big problem."

North take the obligatory few seconds to puzzle his way through that, but eventually gets his head around it. "What problem is this?" Is his eloquent response.

"Uh. You know how you have a kid, right?"

Yes. Yes he is aware of that fact.

"Oh don't give me that look. I was flipping through my notes, you know them, and I came across Jacks. But it's changed. A new option's been added."

North knows of Death's notes. They cataloged every waking moment of each living creature's life, but were in a constant state of change. Because crazy random happenstances were constantly cropping up, timelines would occasionally change, and those changes would cause other alterations across the board. Much like a ripple when a stone is dropped in a pond. One of Death's least favorite moments they've told North about was when a plane flight was going to explode, killing everyone, but a passenger had had a premonition of sorts, and had gotten off the plane with a few of his friends. According to Death this had caused quite the kerfuffle, and it had taken many months to smooth out the rips, tears, and creases in time afterwards.

On the flipside of the constant changes, there were "fixed points" that would always happen no matter what you tried. These fixed points usually ended in mass death or a great change in some sort of balance.

Long story short, it was all difficult and complicated and made North's head spin. But if Death was talking about Jack, then it had to be important.

"Vhat type of options?" North asks, afraid of the answer.

"I gotta ask," Death topic jumps, trying to avoid outright answering. "Where is Jack, exactly?"

North just sighs, sitting heavily into his chair. "I do not know. He is always with the leaving and the wanting to explore."

Death grimaces, and North only knows that because he can hear the skeleton's teeth grinding together, and the tapping of scythe on floor stops.

"Yeah. Uh. So about that. What would you say if he wasn't... at. The, uh, Pole. Exactly?"

...

...

SAY WHA?

"What do you mean not at ze Pole?!" North bellows, towering over the shepherd as he springs to his feet, before pacing frantically. "Where is he?"

"...New Orleans?"

"New...How did he get there?!" North's voice goes shrill as he descends into sheer and utter panic.

Death holds up their hands and begins to wave their boney fingers in North's face. "Maaaaaaaaaaagic," they croon before letting their hands drop. "Seriously dude, it was that snow globe that went off. How else was he going to get past your spells?"

North rubs at his temples with one hand, reaching for his coat with the other.

"What are the options?" He asks again, looking deep into the shadows where Death's face would be.

"...Well it depends on when help gets there." Death says, pulling out a small page from their cloak and waving it for emphasis. "It says here that if you or the Rabbit show up within... twenty-ish minutes, then he's good and everyone gets out okay."

North sags with relief, there was still time.

"But."

Relief goes right out the window.

"You gotta remember, this was a trap set by Pitch. He tampered with the globes. He's waiting for whoever comes out on the other side."

North's breath hitches. Jack, his child, had just been hand delivered to the single person on Earth that wanted him dead. On a silver platter. Oh shit this was not good.

"You have twenty minutes." Death says in conclusion, "Or I will be visiting on business. Best of luck."

The last bit is ridiculously chipper and bright and damn North's gotta start hauling ass in order to prepare, gather the necessary supplies. He may be a master swordsman, but it's a cold day in hell when North can take on Pitch alone and come out unscathed.

But hell if that was going to stop him trying.

Twenty minutes. North could work with that.

***

Jack was getting tired. It was one thing to practice offensive moves on targets, but it was a whole other sport to actually find himself shooting at wave after wave of Nightmares all while trying to cover his own back, all while Pitch Black cackles from the shadows, waiting for the single moment Jack would make a mistake.

Jack was getting tired. He wasn't going to last for much longer; even as the temperature has dropped so far it's starting to snow and frost snakes it's way across every window for miles around.

Jack shoots another Nightmare, freezing it solid, before whacking it with his staff and shattering it to pieces that fall to the ground of the alley with a clatter, only to be stepped on by two shadow replacements. Much like the hydra, every Nightmare Jack destroyed was replaced by many more, and any idiot could see they pressed closer and closer as the child began to tire, his attacks growing sloppier and less devastating to his enemies.

Jack's arms shake, shuddering from the strain, each kickback of the staff growing more and more taxing on his muscles. He either needed to get help, which he had no idea how to do, or get the hell out of here, which in turn had a very narrow chance of legitimately working.

Long story short, he was so screwed.

The south wind howls in rage as the temperature hits the negatives, and Easter Sunday in New Orleans has become so snowy you can't even see your hand in front of your face. Roads are frozen, trees are toppling over like matchsticks, and every single living thing has long since taken shelter.

Snow piles in the streets, which gives Jack the slightest edge of being able to deal with temperatures being the way they are.

But that edge still doesn't stop Pitch from managing to grab him by the throat and shove him against a wall, pushing him up so that his feet full on leave the ground as he chokes and sputters. Pale hands claw at grey, dead ones. Pitch just tightens his two handed hold on Jack's throat, and despite looking and feeling like a clammy corpse, the Boogeyman is much stronger than some re-animated body could ever dream to be. The sprite's staff clatters to the ground as Jack instinctively tries to pry the fingers from around his neck.

Jack gasps, trying to suck in air through his crushed windpipe and untimely failing, even as his struggles become more and more sluggish and docile due to lack of oxygen. Pitch just laughs, crooning at the winter sprite.

"Oh, poor little Jack." Pitch laughs, removing one hand from around the boy's throat but still managing to keep his corpse-grip on it, "The bastard product of magic and nature. It's a wonder you've not become unstable as of yet."

Pitch smirks full of fangs, and raises a clawed hand towards Jack's face. The child shies away as much as he can, not having the breath to wail as he wants to. The claw lightly traces up his jaw, before harshly digging into the skin just under the left eye. Jack's mouth opens in a choked, strangled not-scream, almost sounding like a sigh as the last of his breath gets expelled in a noise of pain and fear. The claw embedded in his face, though only in the very top layers of the skin (enough to draw blood, but not enough to scar), drags along the bottom of his cheekbone, ripping jaggedly at skin as it goes.

Jack can feel blood bubbling to the wound and dripping down his face, and he doesn't have to see it to know it's blue. Pitch's face is swimming in and out of visibility, shark tooth smile turning into a smudge of white on a chunk of grey. The cutting stops a few centimeters from his nose, and Pitch draws back his to look at his blue stained index finger.

"Blue blood." The voice seems far away from Jack's addled brain. "And here I was thinking I'd gotten all of those vermin during my purge. Ah, well." The curved claw makes a return, just skimming along the top of his other hand, teasing along the skin of Jack's neck. The child doesn't dare move, knowing that one flinch and Pitch's going to stab into his neck and slit his throat.

If he wasn't already scared shitless, Jack's pretty sure he'd be at this point. Because this was the guy out to kill him, and he was going to die and holy shit he still had so much stuff he wanted to do. He wanted to go see the world, gain believers, go and live.

But now he was going to die.

And that _sucked_.

Jack's eyes begin to slide shut against his will. He's all but given up struggling, and if anything he's almost ready to just lie over and let Death lead him away. S'not like Death's a stranger. But something in him is screaming for _just a few more seconds, then you can sleep, just hold on and stay alive for a bit longer, you stubborn bastard, just a few more seconds_.

A few more seconds is all it takes.

He hears an angered Australian voice holler from the end of the alley. The fingers around his throat tighten before letting go and good god air as never tasted so good. Even if he collapses to the ground, gasping for oxygen and nearly choking on it, he can hear laughter and fighting and his eyes just wouldn't focus for some reason. His brain is like soup, addled and murky and unable to piece anything coherent together.

So he chokes and splutters and forces air into his burning lungs, not caring about his surroundings. He doesn't care when fluffy paws pick him up, cradling him gently, and a voice asks if he's okay mate?

Doesn't care when the sky is suddenly cut off and the world goes dark, the smell of alley stank shifting to the distinct scent of dirt and plants. He forces himself to keep a hold of awareness, as muddled as it currently is, but seeing as he's dead yet then things just so happen to be looking up.

Awareness eventually creeps back to him, and his brain begins to speed up in it's processing before kick-starting into overdrive and running full kilter. Jack's in a tunnel. Tunnels are either good or bad, he hasn't had enough experiences either way to really weigh in. A quick look upwards shows that it was Bunnymund that saved his pale ass, so there was no way North wasn't going to find out about this kerfuffle.

"Bunny." Jack says softly, shoving slightly at the furred chest he's being held to. "I can walk."

Said rabbit sighs in relief, quickly shifting him to his own (only slightly) wobbly legs before gently placing his staff into his hands. Power conduit safely in hand, Jack begins to walk forwards, and if his progress is still a little slow then what of it?

Bunny follows to his near left, a constant presence catching him when he stumbles and always ready to help him. Not that Jack needs a mother hen... bunny to watch him, but it's comforting all the same.

"You gave me a right scare, ya did." Says Bunny nonchalantly. "North's gunna have a heart attack, frostbite." He adds as an afterthought.

Jack can't help but shudder at the thought. North was going to be livid. Jack's not going to be allowed outside for the next three millennia. Maybe not ever. Bunny chuckles and slaps him on the back, causing Jack to almost fall over but you didn't hear that.

"It'll be fine." The rabbit says happily, "I'm sure you'll be let out around the next ice age, or thereabouts."

Jack's heart plummets, but he keeps walking forwards despite the anxiety. All he really wants is to go home and sleep for a few hundred years.

A good plan, but not one that would be happening anytime soon.

***

To say Pitch was pissed would be one hell of an understatement.

To say he was livid with the burning fire of one million suns would be a bit closer.

But as he storms into his lair with a scowl on his face and frostbite on his fingers. The cold didn't affect him as it would mortals, but that didn't mean he exactly liked it. He'd had the brat in his hands, but he had to be dramatic and go for killing the child in the most climatic way possible. But that had given the overgrown Easter Rodent the time the rat hadn't known he'd needed to save the child.

Pitch had Jack in his grasp. He'd had him, had him bleeding and dying in his claws, and then a boomerang out of nowhere had shocked him into dropping the child.

Powerful as he was, he wasn't going to risk going up against a Guardian on their specific day, and thus had high tailed it out of there, promising himself that next time, next time, he'd see that child dead and buried before even thinking of leaving. Next time, next time, next time, there were so many next times and not enough nows for his liking.

But for now he'd have to be patient.

The smell of brimstone creeps through the winding halls of his lair, and Pitch then knows he's got a guest. Joy.

"So, are you just bad at murder, or do you honestly suck at everything?" Comes a monotone voice as Pitch casually turns around to see Death standing nonchalantly near the iron globe. The skeleton traces the outline of the Americas with a bone finger. Pitch forces himself to not bristle at the comment, walking closer. It wouldn't do to get angry at one of the most powerful entities on the planet.

"I'll have you know," Pitch begins, "That my trap may have not worked in the way I expected, but..." He raises his hand, conjuring a vile from the shadows and holding his blue-with-blood finger above it, allowing one single drop of blue blood to leisurely sink to the tip of the claw before dropping in with a small plip. A smile of daggers crawls across his face at the sound.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a failure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!11!!one!!


	6. Tick Tock and All too Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the party don't start till Jack gets back to the Pole to get yelled at.

**CHAPTER SIX – IN WHICH BONDS BREAK AND BLOOD FLIES**

When Jack gets back to the Pole, it appears a bomb has gone off, or thereabouts. Yetis scramble in the chaos, doing their best to get over the catastrophe that apparently had happened. The elves are nowhere to be seen, so there's a good chance this was their fault.

And in the very center of the workshop was a distraught looking North borderline running towards the other end of the room, barking orders in yetish as he speed-walked towards the sleigh dock. Before the Russian can get too far Aster runs to stop him, making sure Jack wasn't going to topple over first. When North sees Jack, the worry and fear plaguing him lifts like a fog on a sunny day, only to be replaced by... not anger, but something akin to it.

"Jack!" He gasps in relief, poking and prodding at his surrogate child, searching for injuries beyond the angry bruises around the child's neck and the jagged cut running along his face. Finding none, North sweeps the child into a crushing hug, squeezing his child close to him. Jack returns the embrace, clinging to his father tightly, and allowing the wave of fear induced tears to hit and fall. North simply holds him through the wave of adrenaline and terror running it's course, rubbing his back and murmuring softy to him in Russian.

Eventually Jack steps back, leaving a face shaped wet spot on North's jacket, but the large man doesn't seem to care. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, North turns to Bunny and thanks the rabbit, to which Aster simply replies that it was no problem and then disappears back into his tunnels to finish Easter.

North steers Jack to his office, closing the door before exploding.

"Vhat were you thinking?" The Russian moans, "Tampering with ze globes, how many times have I been telling you not to?"

"... at least seven." Jack says slowly, kicking his feet from the chair he had taken residence in.

North looks at him with a sour face, before shaking his head. "You are not knowing how close you came to dying today, Jack." North says solemnly. Jack looks up with shock at North openly admitting what almost happened.

"Death was here, Jack. He was here and telling me what could have been." North paces in front of his window, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I came too close to losing you, my boy."

Jack hangs his head, suddenly very interested in the floor. He knew it had been close. He knew he'd almost died, but he hadn't, so Jack was struggling with what the big problem was? Why was North so mad about what didn't happen?

"I do not want you leaving ze Pole again." North says with finality. "Not until Pitch is gone for good. Is too dangerous."

Let's just say that that doesn't go over very well.

"What?" Jack all but shrieks, standing quickly to challenge his guardian. "You've kept me locked up for this long, and now you're just going to do it again? Obviously I'm able to hold my own against Pitch, or I'd already by dead!"

North flinches at the comment, but his expression hardens. "And you only got out alive because Bunny came and got you!" He... doesn't shout, but uses such a tone that it's even worse. "I will not have you leaving the Pole anymore. Not even ze main building."

Jack scowls at this, seeing the minimal freedoms he had before this crumbling before him. "This is ridiculous!" He hisses, slamming his hands onto the desk, making all the ice sculptures jump.

"You almost died, Jack." North says angrily.

"But I didn't!" The child shoots back, crossing his arms.

"Is not discussion!" North's voice finally hits a shout, causing Jack to step back slightly. In all his years, North had never raised his voice towards Jack. "You are staying at ze Pole, no arguments. Is for your own good." North's tone goes back to normal, softer in volume but no less final.

Jack snorts, turning and throwing the door to the study open before storming out. North watches him go sadly, but lets Jack leave all the same. They both needed time to calm down, both needed time alone to assess the situation and look at it from both points of view.

Jack would see sense eventually, North tells himself as he reaches into his desk to draw out a large bottle of vodka, he'd see this was for his own protection.

Eventually.

***

Jack was livid. North just wouldn't see sense, would he? Good god, it wasn't like Jack had actually died, hell he hadn't even really gotten anything worst than he had on a bad training day. Just a good scaring, a cut, and some bruises. Not that big of a deal, in the grand scheme of things.

So why was North acting like it was the end of the world? Pitch may know he existed, and that sucked, but it wasn't like the Nightmare King knew where he was. If anything, the fact that he'd taken Bunny's tunnels instead of just flying back should have gotten him brownie points, because that way Pitch couldn't possibly tracked him to the Pole at all.

North was so busy concentrating on the what ifs he'd forgotten to look at what actually happened. Jack had fended off a wave of Nightmares and their damn King on his own for a good fifteen minutes, didn't that count for anything?

Man, whatever, Jack thought as he stalked through Santoff Claussen towards his room, if North wasn't going to see the best of the situation that Jack would see it for him. He eventually gets to his room, his nice cold wonderful room, and flops onto his bed with a groan.

Sleep would be wonderful at the moment. He'd burned through a lot of magic in the past hour, way more than he was used to anyway, and thus was exhausted. He buries his face into the pillow, ready to sleep off a few months at this point.

***

North, sufficiently drunk for such an endeavor, had decided to check on Jack. He felt bad for taking away Jack's freedom, especially when he saw the light leave Jack's eyes when he did so, but he couldn't risk his child getting caught by Pitch. It was too great a risk. Just the thought of Jack, innocent, tiny, Jack in the clutches of the Nightmare King was enough to send North running.

That was the main thought running through his mind as he lumbers towards Jacks room to check on the boy, his mind sending him back to a time where he had done the exact same thing to find a baby missing and himself sending the whole Pole into panic at that fact. He comes to the door, painted a cheery robin's egg blue, and quietly pushes it open.

It's dark, as it is nearly midnight. Jack lies in his bed, quiet and still as the grave, save for the tiny rises and falls of a breathing chest. Occasionally Jack gives off a small grunt or snort in his sleep, messing up his calm face as it scrunches up in irritation.

North smiles at this, content to just watch his child and make sure he's still alive, still safe and sound at his home. Silently drawing closer to his ward, North draws the kicked off blankets back up to Jack's shoulders, tucking his child in before pressing a gentle kiss to the boy's forehead.

Jack used to love North's kisses goodnight, but as he grew older the child had declared himself too old for such things. That had borderline broken North's heart, but not like North was going to say anything about it.

However, with Jack sound asleep and safe next to him, North can't help but be whisked back to a time where this room had belonged to a little baby that had always giggled and smiled, and always had the childlike wonder in his eyes that North saw die every single day, slowly but surely.

For a minute, he can forget that Jack is growing up.

For a minute, he can forget that everything may have just gone to hell.

For a minute, everything's okay.

***

North dreams of fire. He dreams of pain and terror and fear and flames that crackle as they burn higher and taller, consuming the workshop. North dreams of yetis running for cover, elves rushing to get outside, and the building of the North Pole crumbling in upon it's self.

North dreams of Nightmares running through the halls and shadows consuming his home, all while a bodiless cackle echoes through the hallways over the roar of flames.

But the worst thing is when North hears a pained shriek for help coming from the depths of the building. A small, childlike voice, screaming for North with all it's might.

"North! North? Help me! Please!"

Jack.

North dreams of rushing to find his child, who's screams grow fainter and fainter. He dreams of running through his burning home, trying desperately to cough up the smoke in his lungs and ignore the burns on his skin. Because he had to get to Jack.

Jack's voice suddenly stops, cutting off with a strangled gargle. North rushes tenfold, ripping doors off their hinges and bolting through the halls, calling for Jack. Jack never calls out again, leaving North to assume the worst. But he does not give up.

Eventually, in the warped way dreams do, North finds himself in the Globe Room, despite knowing he shouldn't be. It is here the fire is at it's worst, with Nightmares and flames ripping Santoff Claussen apart plank by plank.

And then the laughing. Pitch's laugher seem to come from all around, echoing even above the roar of flames. North spins around, swords at the ready for when the shadow decided to materialize.

When it does, he almost wishes it hadn't.

Shadows surround the globe, warping and twisting and blackening the globe, and at the very top stands the imposing figure of the nightmare king himself. Pitch looks like he always done, grey and thin and wrong. The Nightmare king only cackles when North raises his sabres to fighting position, and waves a grey hand nonchalantly.

North hears a large whump come from behind him, and he spins around to face the threat.

Only to gasp in shock and horror, dropping his swords and running forwards.

Jack lays still as the grave, lying on the floor from where the shadows had tossed him. His eyes are open, but dulled, all of their twinkling light gone. His mouth is open in a silent scream, and his normally smirking fear is frozen in an expression of complete and utter terror.

He does not move.

He does not breathe.

North rushes to his child, hands shaking as terror and adrenaline rushes through his system. He gently prods at Jack, not Jack's body because Jack isn't dead, and lightly holds a shuddering finger to the boy's neck. North holds his breath, hoping, praying.

He feels nothing. No heartbeat, not even the fluttering ghost of one.

North crouches next to his child, unnoticing when the background seems to melt away into shadows. Pitch's laughter echoes around, taking on a more animalistic undertone.

But North does not care.

Instead the Cossack gathers his boy, his Jack, into his arms, noting dully how small and frail the child seems. Jack's eyes stare into the void, unseeing.

"Jack?" North whispers, lightly brushing white hair from the boy's cold face. No response. So he says it again, and again, and again, shouting screeching for his child to wake up. North so desperately wishes for Jack to blink, laugh, and claim that it was all a joke.

But it doesn't happen.

So he keeps on shouting at the still body in his arms, not noticing when tears start to fall from his tired old eyes.

When Nicolas St. North wakes up, it's with a terrified shriek of Jack's name and tears in his watery blue eyes.

***

Jack pouts for the next few days, but eventually gets over it. In return for being kept holed up in the Pole, Jack creates hell through pranks. He ices the stairs and hallways, starts a factory wide snowball war, and spikes every single last cookie in the Pole with more salt than the Dead Sea.

It's irritating, but North deals with it nonetheless, as it's better than Jack sneaking out instead. North would bite a million overly-salty chocolate chip cookies before he'd let that happen. So he lets the chaos reign, lets Jack raise hell and send anarchy through the halls through the use of the wind.

North would take a pain in the ass winter spirit over a dead one any day of the week.

It was for his own good.

But all good things must come to an end, and this particular good thing was going out with a bang not a whimper.

Three weeks after "The Easter of '68" catastrophe, North is called from his office by mass panic and explosions resonating from the globe room. The Russian is quick to drop his current project, but when he wrenches the door open, nearly taking it off it's hinges, he's met with a wave of Nightmares chasing elves around while the yetis try to shepherd them out of the hallways.

North grabs his sabres, hacking and slashing at the sand horses, all while barking orders. "Into ze catacombs!" He shouts, "Evacuate ze Pole!" A nearby yeti nods in confirmation, quickly spreading the word.

The Cossack runs through the halls, hacking and slashing at any stray nightmares that dare to come too close. He slowly manages to pick his way through the hallways of Santoff Claussen, working steadily towards Jack's room in the blind hope his child is there.

This is far too close to his nightmare for comfort, let alone being too close to _nightmares_ for comfort most of the time.

At least nothing's on fire yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, tiny baby chapter this go around, school kinda attacked me and dragged me into the back alley and robbed me of all my free time. Sorry kids!


	7. You and I Must Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch gains and ally and attacks the Pole. Shit goes down.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: IN WHICH SOMETHING IS IN FACT ON FIRE.**

Pitch Black is not a stupid man, or so he'd like to think. He knows he can't take the Guardians on his own, not on their home turfs, but if he wants the winter spirit, this Jack, dead and buried then he's going to need some reinforcements.

The rodent had saved the child, and acted like they'd known each other. Therefore, the child knew the Guardians. Therefore, he was most likely living with or nearby one of them. Therefore, Pitch was going to have to find out which one.

Thankfully, he knew just the person.

So the Shadow caster takes his vile of the little winter abomination's blood to Berlin, Germany with great glee. The person he's looking for always stuck near mortal settlements, near the source of the food they preferred. Big cities were a walk in buffet to them, with large, anonymous gatherings of humans ripe for the picking.

Pitch eventually finds his informant in a back alley on the seedier part of town, late into the night on a crisp May evening. The Nightmare king bleeds into the shadows around, doing his best to ignore the sounds of bone snapping under teeth and the putrid smell of spilt blood on pavement.

Fog runs thick through the alley, so dense one can barely make out the vague shapes of a hunched figure leaning over a fallen body, shoving it's clawed hands into the chest area and occasionally pulling a rib from the cavity and bringing it to their lips.

Pitch is so busy trying to block out the scene in front of him, he doesn't notice when his foot brushes a tin can that had been lying in wait, sending an obnoxiously loud rattling through the alley. His informant turns to him, fixing the shadow king in a feral, moss green glare. Pitch merely sneers, even as claws morph back into hands and the figure stands straight.

"Pitch." The informant hisses through elongated fangs, "You've interrupted my dinner."

"So sorry, Baba Yaga," Pitch shoots back, "But I'm in need of some information, and you're... special brand of expertise."

Baba Yaga smirks at that, absentmindedly licking blood off of her weathered, knobby fingers. She turns towards Pitch with a bored look, gazing down her hooked nose in Pitch's direction despite her being half his height. The whole of her body is covered by a black cloak, the edges frayed and rotten through with age. Her eyes Pitch knows, despite being colourful and vibrant, are unseeing.

The Baba Yaga is blind. Pitch knows of her use of magic and third eyes as she calls them to regard the world around her, using a mixture of SONAR-like magical pulses and blood magic to find her way around.

But he also knows firsthand as to what happens when someone underestimates her because of this disability.

Her mouth slides open into a fanged smile, her elongated canines stained crimson with the blood of her nameless victim.

"Very well," She says with a wave of her hand. "Let's see what the shadow-man has brought little old me this time, yeah?"

Pitch watches the reddened hands absently before drawing a small vile with a single drop of blue blood within from his cloak and handing it to her. Yaga's face instantly perks up as weathered hands feel the vial, opening it gently, and she moves to sniff it with no small degree of shock.

"...I thought you'd killed them all." It's a statement, not a question.

"Apparently not. I had him in my claws, Yaga, and he managed to escape me again."

"Wow, you must really suck at murder." She snorts, but takes the vile nonetheless, holding it delicately between three fingers. She then unceremoniously brings it to her lips and tips it back, allowing the drop of blood to slide into her mouth.

She instantly makes to gag, flailing and spitting and cursing in German.

"Are you trying to poison me?!" She shrieks in English, whipping the vile without looking at Pitch with a mighty throw, which the Nightmare king is just only able to dodge. The glass shatters against a wall, clattering to the ground. The noise echoes through the alley along with Yaga's next hissing screech. "I should kill you for this you vile little bastard!"

Baba Yaga makes a show of gagging and making to spit the blood out, but doesn't do so. "What the hell is in this, Pitch?" She finally hisses once her theatrics are over.

"A bastardization. A mix of magic and nature." Pitch says simply.

"Is that what that is? What do you want me to do about it?"

"What you always do when called upon. I want you to find him."

Baba rolls her moss green eyes and sneers a grimace of missing and rotted teeth. "Very well." She finally agrees, before schooling her features into a face of intense concentration, green eyes falling closed. Her mouth moves as if swishing the blood of the frost brat around.

Suddenly her eyes snap open, their surfaces glassy and colourless, her irises having apparently taken a holiday.

"Frost." She begins blandly, none of the sass of her normal tones present. "Cold. The spirit is cold, but not in soul. He is unsure of his footing in his life, unsure of his place."

"But where is that place?" Pitch interjects, trying to cut off the musing.

"Plains of snow and ice," She replies, dazedly. "A grand fortress of wood and wonder. The smell of peppermint... oh fucking hell." She cuts herself off, blinking back into consciousness. "I lost it, the blood's too old. What did I say?"

"Enough," Pitch smiles. "I know where he is. Fancy a road trip? I hear the North Pole is wonderful this time of year." His grin is leery, but she manages to leer right back.

"Oh hell no." She replies casually, "You think I've got a death wish? No way am I getting in the way of a Guardian, especially the Russian."

Pitch looks a little put upon at her refusal, but after a few moments of thought a plan comes together in his head.

"I've heard rumors," He says softly, "Of Nicolas' library. I hear it's about as vast as the day is long."

Baba Yaga lets a scoff pass through her rotted teeth, and she turns to walk away.

"I hear there may even be a spell to turn back time in there." Pitch then says smugly, knowing he's got her there. Her hunched back stiffens, and she whips around to face him.

"Are you sure?" She asks, not without an almost childlike tone of hope. "Is there actually one of those spells in there?" Her eyes are wide with hope and wonder at the thought.

"But of course, it's the one place you haven't checked, right?" Pitch replies, holding out a greyed, dead hand. "All I ask is that you help me storm the castle and kill the dragon."

Forest green eyes focus towards his voice, contemplating.

"Alright then." She says softly, taking the offered hand with something that's more akin to a high five than an actual handshake. "Let's release the kraken."

***

It is late afternoon when everything goes to hell. The workshop is running at full kilter, the sound of the language of the Yetis mingling with the varied noises of construction. Jack is floating around one of the higher levels of the main amphitheater, still disgruntled at his house arrest, even if he can see where North was coming from by implementing it.

Didn't make being cooped up any less annoying.

Jack's day had started average. Woke up, breakfast, cause some chaos, lunch, cause more chaos, get kicked out of the main construction area for the sixth time, and then he finds himself here, sitting in one of the more quiet of windowsills of the workshop, just sitting and watching the hubbub below. If a sheet of clear ice makes it's way in front of a walking yeti, what of it?

But it's his vantage point from this high up, out of the way, hole in the wall that lets him get a good look as the windows embedded in the ceiling get the great idea to explode inwards, sending broken glass and splintered frame plummeting to the ground below.

Yetis and elves alike quickly scatter, doing their best to dodge the falling debris as eerie cackling sounds through the amphitheater. A figure drops from the hole in the ceiling, landing with a thunk on the globe at the center of the workshop, it's rotted, holey cloak covering it's face and body. If the laughter is to be believed, however, one can assume they're female.

"Hel- _lo_ ladies and gentlemen!" The voice laughs. "Who's ready to have a little fun?!" With that, the figure extends clawed fingers, sprouting fire from their palms.

"I'd like to say I am." Comes a second voice, one Jack can actually identify.

Pitch.

Oh god Pitch is in the Pole Jack thinks, panicking and scanning for a place to hide. Not that he's a coward, but Pitch Black is more powerful than Jack, and by god does the ice sprite know it. It's a fact of nature. It's best for him to just find somewhere to camp until backup (aka the Guardians) show up.

But then again.

The large hand pull that activates the Northern Lights are on the base of the Globe. The Globe, currently, is being paraded atop of by some crazy old crone with fire in her hands and sarcasm on her tongue. All of the Yetis and elves have long since ollied outie, and North is two floors below in his personal workshop.

So... wait. Backup was called by the hand pull, which was currently in sight of at least one basket-case.

Frikkin' Perfect.

Jack takes the distraction caused by the chaos to retreat into the rafters, slinking into the shadows slightly and keeping out of sight. _Okay_ , he thinks to himself as he slowly moves towards the center of the room, closer to the broken window and the globe, _plan, we need a plan, and I don't think running right in guns blazing is quite going to cut it_.

The woman cackles, letting her hood fall to settle on her shoulders. Jack takes one look at her and feels a creeping shudder slither down his spine. She, for lack of anything nice to say, is hideous. Wild black hair with streaks of grey is tangled and messy, as if it's never even seen a brush. A face pocket marked with wrinkles and scars, with a crooked nose that is slightly bent, as if it had been broken before.

Jack rips his eyes away, wincing slightly, before continuing on his way along the rafters. The woman hoots and hollers, Pitch sometimes accompanying her, as she shuffles around the top of the Globe and shoots the occasional fireball at the surrounding floor, sufficiently scaring any yetis and elves far from the Globe. Nightmares pour in from the broken windows, adding to the chaos.

Jack shuffles along the woodwork of the rafters, doing his best to keep quiet, only to fail when a sudden small prick sends a jolt of pain up his hand.

"Ouch!" He hisses, bringing his finger up to his lips in an instinctive movement. He prods the digit carefully with his tongue, feeling the rather large splinter that had managed to lodge itself deeply into his finger.

But he causes himself more pain as he bites harshly into his finger in order to muffle a scream as a black mass of shadow snaps from nowhere and wraps around his ankle twice, dragging him off the beam and into the open air. Jack lunges for his staff, which had slipped from his shocked grasp, but untimely fails as it clatters to the ground below, thankfully staying in one piece. Jack's arms dangle loosely as the shadow brings him closer to the Globe.

Jack swings like a pendulum, upside down and as helpless as a fish on a line. He squirms and tries to flip himself to grab at the shadows encasing his left foot to no avail, as not even he is that flexible, and he eventually just resigns himself to his fate. His demands to be let go you slimy bastard fall on deaf ears, even as he is unceremoniously dropped flat on his face on the Guardian's mural with a grunt.

With a groan Jack pries his face from the mural, only to come face to face with a set of black shoes. His eyes flick upwards and meet with a set of golden orbs glaring maliciously at him.

Oh shit.

Pitch smiles smugly, looming over Jack like the creepy bastard he knows he is.

"Well if it isn't the little abomination, just the freak I wanted to see." Pitch smirks. Jack slowly gets off the floor, trying to make no sudden movements that could set anyone off. He schools his face into a grin that even tastes awkward.

"Well, I never aim to disappoint." Jack shrugs, trying his best to keep the welling fear knotting his stomach under control. He's not doing a very good job, however, as his hands shake slightly as they return to his sides.

Pitch merely sneers, which seems to be his default expression if you ask Jack, and shows off rows of pointed teeth that would make Tooth cry.

Speaking of which.

The control panel with the hand pull for the beacon is right behind Pitch, mocking Jack with it's so-close-yet-so-far vicinity. Said Nightmare King begins to pace slightly, ranting in a long, overdramatic spiel that Jack isn't even bothering to try and pay attention to, though he does pick up on phrases like _rip the flesh from your bones_ and _destroy everything you've ever loved_ through the din of his racing mind.

Using the distraction of the obviously rehearsed speech, Jack darts forwards. Though he'd be much faster with the wind behind him, Jack manages to duck and weave around the fumbling Pitch Black, sprinting for the control panel only a few meters away.

Only to have his hopes, therefore said panel, both literally and metaphorically crushed under the booted feet of Pitch's new ally, both exploding in a shower of sparks and dying dreams. Jack recoils in both fear and shock, backing up quickly to avoid the heat of the sparks.

"Ah, no, no, no, demon." The crone says, smiling with a grin missing multiple yellow teeth, "Can't have you calling the cavalry when I'm having so much fun, now can we?"

Jack only stays silent, backing up even further as a reek of decay and other unsavoury things emanates from her. His retreat is brought to a close when a grey hand closes over his shoulder, clinging tight enough to cause pain.

It's probably a good idea to start praying, Jack thinks, because he's pretty sure nothing short of a miracle is getting him out of here alive at this point.

"Baba Yaga," Pitch greets, digging claws further into Jack's shoulders, cutting into his sweater and shirt, only stopping just before pale skin. "Are you quite finished terrorizing the yetis?"

"I dunno," Baba Yaga replies in a condescending manner, "Are you done being over dramatic, or am I going to be here for another hour before you kill him?"

No prizes on who they're talking about. Jack can barely suppress his fear, though he knows he's shaking like a leaf under Pitch's hand. Despite his recklessness, Jack's at least one hundred percent sure he's not ready to die yet.

Thankfully, he won't have to, because this is the time a certain red wearing Russian decides to make his appearance via jumping from a nearby doorway and nearly taking Pitch's head off with a well thrown saber. Pitch barely manages to get out of the way by hitting the deck as soon as North lets out the first war cry. However, this means that he's traded his head for his prisoner, as Jack manages to squirm out of the grasp of the Nightmare King and run at full kilter towards his guardian, borderline leaping into North's arms.

North gathers him close with one arm, one sword still pointed towards the two invaders, even as Pitch rights himself to a chorus of ugly laughter from Baba Yaga at her partner's expense. Pitch scowls at her, but then turns the death glare onto North, who only shifts slightly to keep Jack sheltered. The ice sprite buries his face into the coat of his caretaker, doing his best not to freak out all over the place and rather failing.

"Cossack." Pitch spits. "I should have guessed you'd be ready for battle in your own home. Such a violent place to house a child, don't you think?"

North only growls at that, raising his sword higher. "Vhy are you here Pitch? And I thought I'd already crushed you to pulp, Baba Yaga, and yet you are back for more?"

Both villain's faces darken, though Pitch is the first to respond. "I'm here to finish what I started, of course." He says haughtily. "I wanted the Winter Court dead, and by that I mean I wanted all of them dead, including the little freak you've decided to keep as a pet."

"I'm just here for shits and gigs," Baba Yaga adds on as an afterthought, "You know, set a few fires, kill a few mutants, fun stuff."

Jack bristles at the names, but doesn't make to attack, moving to stand beside North despite being still shaken and unable to do anything without his staff. He barely protests when North begins to pull him backwards towards the door, not turning around until they hit the threshold and break out into a sprint down the empty hallways.

Once they are deep into the labyrinth of the lower floors of the Pole Jack skids to a stop and turns to look behind him with a lost look.

"My staff." He says softly, "My staff's still in the Globe room. It fell when Pitch..." He trails off, wringing his hands together nervously, unable to deal with the loss of his most treasured item.

North sets a heavy hand on his shoulder, comforting him slightly and leading him towards the catacombs. "We will get it back." North says softly, "But not now. Now we must get yetis and elves to safety, and contact ze other Guardians. Then we retake the Pole."

"But what about Christmas?" Jack asks, "What about the kids?"

"Bah," North scoffs. "Is still early in the year, and takes much more than Pitch Black to take down Christmas. Is only minor setback, you will see."

Jack's face still looks nervous, but more relaxed than before. Together they travel the catacombs, eventually emerging into the bright sunlight of the ice planes to the south of the Pole. Hundreds of yetis and what looks like thousands of elves are gathered in tight groups, muttering to each other in their own languages. When North springs into view from the hidden entrance he's nearly swarmed with questions in the garbled language of the yetis and the strange mutterings the elves make.

North does his best to calm everyone down, declaring that they will all move south towards an emergency center hidden underground that had been built when Pitch attacking had been a more common occurrence, and they would then work from there.

It's a good a plan as any, and it soothes the crowds as much as they can be soothed.

Until once again, the world (or, in actuality the Baba Yaga) had decided they weren't getting away that easily, as a huge ray of blinding light shoots into the sky from the Globe room in what looks like a mockery of the Northern Lights, before hitting just above the clouds and moving outwards in all directions, gently sloping towards the ground, much like a stream of water when hitting a spoon.

"Is force field!" North calls to the crowd, "We must move, now!"

The crowd of workers doesn't need any more encouragement, and they all begin to scurry south in an attempt to outrun the magic wall descending upon them. Jack spares a second to look backwards and sees the Pole begin to grow dark, like it would at night despite it being the middle of the day.

"It's blocking out the light." He says quietly, shocked, even as he turns and begins to run alongside his guardian.

The force field is large, but slow moving as it descends from the sky, thus evacuation is actually easy and relatively without panic. Jack and North make sure that the workers are ahead first, and make sure each and every yeti and elf are past the boarder before making to cross themselves.

North moves forwards, watching the edge of the field warily, even as it's only five or six meters from the ground at this point. Jack, however, stops suddenly as if listening intently before skidding around, running back towards the Pole.

"Jack!" North barks, moving forwards, only to be stopped by a yeti. It wouldn't do to lose their leader and their home in one day. "Get _back here_!"

Jack doesn't listen, stopping once again and stooping to grab at something in the snow before running back towards the crowds. North's cursing in Russian, and sometimes in English, which makes some yetis cover the younger one's ears.

The field is only a meter off the ground. Jack, once he gets closer, can be seen holding what looks like...

"An _elf_?!" North all but shrieks, watching the field grow closer to the ground.

Half a meter.

Jack's all out sprinting, but he's too far. He's not going to make it. North tries to force his way through the yetis holding him back, but they won't let go the stubborn flea bags.

Jack's not going to make it, which a fact suddenly realized by said child as he looks at the dome in dismay.

Thirty centimeters.

Jack looks at North with fear and determination, before creating a small slide of ice on the snow and sliding the elf the last few meters out to safety just before the force field slams to the ground with a massive boom that shakes the ground and knocks more than one person off their feet. Snow is tossed into the air, clouding the air until you can't see your hand in front of your face.

Not that that would stop North.

The Russian bolts forwards, slamming his fists onto the field in rage.

"NO!" He yells, banging on the field repeatedly, even if the magic barely shimmers against his efforts. "No, no, no, _NO_!" North continues to slam against the invisible wall, uncaring when his hands start to bleed from the blunt force trauma.

Small pale hands appear on the other side of the field, followed by the scared looking face of Jack Frost. Jack's mouth moves, but North can't hear a thing, even as Jack looks more and more panicked.

North cups his ear and shakes his head, conveying the simple message.

 _I can't hear you_.

Jack's face goes from frightened to an almost petulant expression, as if annoyed by the minor inconvenience, before suddenly brightening. Jack touches the field again, but this time fernlike frost spreads from his fingers, covering a small area at face height. North watches as crudely drawn stick figures are traced into the frost, impressed at Jack's ingenuity.

The drawings were in series, one of a tiny person with a staff (Jack), then a snow globe, followed by the same Jack stick figure outside of a dome. To most it would be rather confusing as to the point of the message, but after years of dealing with Sandy, it was rather easy for North to diverge a meaning.

 _I'm going to get a snow globe and try to use it to teleport out of here_.

North then watched as Jack rubbed away at some of the frost and reappeared on the other side, smiling slightly as if this were all a game. North sighs and puts his hand up to the field, feeling the power of is course through his fingers with a small buzzing sensation. Jack mirrors him, pulling his hand so that their palms would have met if not for the invisible wall separating them.

Jack looks small and lost, worried but determined. North knows he must look out of his mind with fear, for his child and home both. Jack's smile grows wider, and he frosts over another small area next to their hands, and draws another image, this one smaller but with no less meaning.

A small, wonky little heart sits next to their hands, followed by a stopwatch that was almost at zero, and finally two stick figures hugging, one larger and round and the other with the same staff as before.

 _I love you, I'll see you soon_.

North's eyes are not watering, there are just some feelings in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...THIS SHIT WENT UNDER-THE-DOME-STYLE IN 0.3 SECONDS, NEW RECORD! Thanks for all your kind words, kudos, and bookmarks amigos, it means a lot to me :D


	8. In which Jack is Akin to a Chicken with it's Head Cut Off

**CHAPTER EIGHT: IN WHICH JACK IS AKIN TO A CHICKIN WITH IT’S HEAD CUT OFF.**

 

Jack’s fingers, though he’d never admit it, are shaking as he sketches out a rough plan. It’s not the best, Jack knows, but it’s all he’s really got to go on at the moment, even as his drawings come out lopsided and shaky due to his just-shy-of-noticeable shaking.

Because, though it pains him to admit, he’s scared shitless. He’s now trapped under an unbreakable dome with two people out for his head, with no power or foreseeable back up.

Yeah, he’d be crazy if he _wasn’t_ scared.

North’s face peers through the invisible barrier, and Jack can try he’s trying to look unafraid but Jack _knows_ and that makes it a million times worse because _North is scared right now_.

North, like most parents to their children, was an unshakable, unmovable rock in Jack’s eyes. Nicolas St. North never knew fear, never backed down, never faltered.

Except now he was.

Jack feels a rock settle in his gut, but he continues with his explanation, trying to not look North in the eye to bring the reality home. Jack was scared, North was scared, and the entire situation was going to crash around their ears in the extremely near future.

But they do hash out a plan, even if North still looks a little doubtful, and say their goodbyes.

North hovers near the barrier after their heart to heart, looking unwilling to leave though still appearing to bark orders to the yetis. The man looks at least twenty years older, haggard and _old_ , but Jack still knows he needs to get moving.

So with a mock salute to the yetis and a small wave to North, Jack sets off, back towards the secret entrance North and he had come from, only taking the time to wipe away the diagrams he’d left (though he does leave the heart). Once out of sight over a snow drift, Jack does take the time to let the shaking in his hands reach to all over, his entire figure shuddering in something other than cold. The winter bringer takes deep breaths as he walks, trying to still his raging heart.

He fails.

Jack eventually does reach the catacombs, slipping back into the ice mazes with grace and navigating them with ease. It’s here, in the relative safety of his element, he begins to formulate a plan.

He needed a Snow globe in order to escape.

Snow globes were in **[UNKNOWN]**.

 ...right okay.

Jack silently curses North for hiding the Globes from him, even if he knows it was to protect him and yadda, yadda, because a _fat lot_ of good that does him right now.

So he’s going to have to search the old fashion way then? Fine.

Plan somewhat concocted in his head, Jack  quickly picks his way up to the actual building of the Pole, before slipping into what he liked to call the _elf tunnels_.

A few years (that being 137 of them) ago Jack had discovered the reason that the elves could move with astounding ability through the Pole without anyone seeing them if needed, and that was a series of tunnels not unlike air ducts running throughout the entire Pole unknown to North and the Yetis. They were spacious for an elf, so as to not crush their tiny hats, though thanks to Jack’s smaller figure and determination, he too was able to slip through them by army crawling. The tunnels had been cause for many a drive by prank, and to this day they served him well for getting places without getting detected.

Long story short, they were the _best things ever_ in this situation.

Thus, the moment the ice of the catacombs hits the wood of the workshop proper, Jack slips into one of the many hundreds of entrances littered around the Pole by jimmying a wooden panel out of the way and crawling into the dark tunnels beyond.

With only the light he can conjure from an old spell North had taught him, Jack presses on into the Pole. The tunnels are mostly dust free, though he does come across the occasional spider, if not cramped as _balls_.

It’s slow going, but Jack eventually passes by North’s personal workshop, which he can see through a one way mirror the elves had managed to put in when North wasn’t looking, and then past one of the minor kitchens, where a doorway that leads into the back of a cupboard had been left open by a careless elf.

 However, it is when he passes the library that things get interesting.

Through use of an airway vent, Jack can see into the spacious library. A massive room, circular with a radius of at least twenty meters with a grand fireplace at the exact center, reaching four hollow stories into the air only to end at a massive stained glass dome of red and green, the library was one of the best places for hide and seek. Jack himself wasn’t much of a reader, he preferred to hear his stories from North’s wild and wondrous stories himself, so he didn’t spend much time on one of the library’s multiple cushy couches.

Though someone currently was.

The Baba Yaga is asleep on the couch, unceremoniously flopped across the length of it, snoring loudly and twitching every once and a while. Jack shudders at the look of her yellowed teeth, knowing Tooth would be sobbing at this point because of them.

But it’s when the Baba Yaga awakes with a screech and shoots up into a sitting position, that Jack nearly bangs into the opposite wall when he jumps in surprise at the sudden noise. Jack watches from his hidden position as the witch’s gnarled hands jump up to her neck and grasps at it lightly, clutching it as if she’s worried it wasn’t there anymore. Her gasping breaths are audible to even Jack, who’s lying in a tunnel that’s in between floors one and two, looking down upon her.

Baba Yaga calms down from what must have been one _hell_ of a nightmare, letting out a shuddering sigh, her hands coming to a stop at the back of her neck, working at something until she brings her hands forwards again, drawing a string of rosemary beads forwards and out from under her cloak where they had previously been hiding, along with the small, heavily tarnished silver cross that was attached to them.

She holds it gently, looking at it with a sad, almost pained expression.  Jack wonders where it came from. Had she been human? What had caused her to become... _that_?

Suddenly a scowl crosses her face and she glares at the fire, only a meter away from her seat, and violently throws the cross in, glaring at it as if it had done her wrong. Only for her to snap her hands into the fire and snatching it back out, hissing in pain as her hands burn from the coals. She waves the cross slightly to put out any lingering flames, sighing in anger as she holds it with the gentleness of before.

“I’m going to fix this.” She hisses, “I’m going to fix _everything_ , and-”

 “Yaga.” Pitch’s voice cuts her off as the Shadow man slinks into the room from a nearby shadow. Jack sinks further into the shadows from instinct, doing his best to be absolutely silent. “How goes your search?”

“Shitty.” She replies bluntly, shoving the cross into a pocket in her cloak. “And the damn shield is using up a lot of energy man; I’m gunna collapse before you catch that stupid kid.”

Pitch scowls. “Yes, well. It won’t be long now, I’ve got his staff here, and I’ve a feeling he’ll be wanting it back. He’ll come, like a mouse to cheese.”

“Uh huh, mice actually like peanut butter better, did you know? Not cheese. Dairy’s not exactly good for their digestion, actually may poison them if they eat too much, so.” Baba Yaga drawls back, “Listen, if you’re here to make excuses and shitty adages that don’t actually hold up in real life, kindly leave. I’ve got too much to do and not enough fucks to give about killing some kid, mkay?”

Pitch’s face darkens, as if he’d smelled something particularly distasteful, but brings out the staff from the shadows. Jack’s heart leaps at the sight of his weapon, but it sinks all over again as Pitch passes it to the Baba Yaga, who inspects it closely, running her fingers over it’s gnarled wood.

“...This was General Winters.” She says softly.

“Well obviously not anymore.” Pitch answers. “How does it work?”

She twirls the staff slowly, not as gracefully as Jack can but not without ease on her part, and taps it against the floor lightly. Small threads of frost sprout from the end, and her eyes flick to Pitch’s direction as it spreads over her shoes.

“It’s a conduit, it seems.” She begins. “It’s made to play off of natural abilities and magiks, thus why I can only make it do the frosty thing and nothing like the kid was supposedly doing when you two went at it. I’ve got magic and it’s picking up on it, but my own magiks aren’t winter based, thus, it doesn’t really want to respond to me... think of the staff as a guitar amp, and the kid as a guitar with the correct hookup, and myself as one that doesn’t without an emulator. I can make it work, but it’s not really worth it.

“Long story short, it’s a fucking stick unless you’re the kid.”

Pitch snorts at the end, seemingly content with the explanation. “So, if I were to... break it?”

Jack’s heart stops.

“It’d hurt him, a hell of a lot, but it wouldn’t kill him. Sorry.”

“We’ll save it, then. As an ace.”

“A _wonderful_ plan. Now if you will?” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. “My life’s goal is possibly hiding in here, and I’m only a sixth way through.”

Pitch nods jerkily. “If you see him then-”

“Kill on...sight, heh, sight, but yeah, got it. I’m over six hundred Pitchner, I don’t need your hovering.”

“Blind jokes aren’t funny, Yaga.” Pitch calls as he turns away, leaving the staff propped up against the couch.

“They are if you’re me!” She snickers back, even though he’s already gone.

Once he is, Jack decides to make his move. He shuffles to the closest exit (this one being under six floorboards that had been glued together to make the door and hinged to open and close whenever needed) and then begins to call the wind to make him hover slightly above the ground, which is all he can really manage without the staff.

North has told Jack about the Baba Yaga before, not only because she was a known ally of Pitch, but also because North had fought her before and she may have become vengeful in the future.

Thus, he knows how to get around the compensation for her blindness.

The Baba Yaga, Jack knows, works off of a type of echolocation, which is all fine and well, except that it only works on things touching the floor. If something is not in some way connected to the floor, she will be unable to find it. Jack also knows she has issues with range, and according to North she could only use her “third eye vision” for a radius of two meters around her, which was how the Guardians were able to defeat her the first time, when she had apparently attacked Father Time’s clockwork home in the clouds.

Praying his plan doesn’t fall flat on his face, Jack quietly floats himself into the library with held breath and fingers crossed. The Baba Yaga has turned to a nearby bookshelf, running her fingers over every single book’s spine and feeling for engraved letters for titles. Jack can’t help but feel a little sorry for her, he has no idea how it is to not be able to easily see what’s around him the way he always had.

But he has a self appointed mission to attend to, and he’s attention is directed elsewhere.

His staff remains propped against the couch in plain sight, sitting there and _calling_ for Jack to reach out a hand and grab it. Jack quickly floats over to the couch, a green monstrosity of massive proportions, and makes to grab his staff, joy quickly filling his heart as the staff grows closer.

That is, until a gnarled hand with sharp nails snatches his wrist and redirects his whole body, slamming him into a nearby shelf. Pain courses through his back and arms from where he connects with the wooden shelves, and then also blooms from his legs as he falls to the floor, stunned.

“Whoops.” Baba Yaga sneers from near the couch. “Looks like the blind old bat learned a new trick, huh? _Shocker_.”

Jack stares from his place on the ground, trying to get his bearings from being so suddenly displaced, before jump starting as if shocked and bolting for his staff. He’s stopped by a bony fist slamming into his solar plexus with more force than he would’ve thought possible, which in turn sends him flying back into the same bookshelf.

“Wow.” Yaga says, shaking her hand out from the fist, “You’d think St. North would raise his fucking kid better. Can’t even keep up with an old crone, eh kid? You’re in trouble once the world gets to you... if you make it that far, that is.” The last part is said in a much darker tone than she’s used up until this point, rivaling Pitch in the creepy department.

It is then, with a snapping of fingers and a muttered _adustum_ that flames burst into life from her palms, reflecting off her eyes and giving them a hellish glint.

Jack takes the hint.

Jack _runs_.

He sprints out of the library, and down the hall, the wind pushing from behind and urging him.

_Faster, child, faster, faster, small child, danger, faster!_

The Baba Yaga chases after him, not as fast as he but shooting at him all the while, each fireball getting closer and closer to his head. Her aim’s getting better, therefore she’s able to ‘see’ him better, therefore...

She’s catching up.

Jack, though he knows it will burn him out quicker, goes even faster, bolting down the hallways as if Satan himself was after him.

That is, until the reek of brimstone assaults his nose, and he rounds a corner at breakneck speed, launching himself into the waiting arms of Death and allowing himself to be whisked away with a puff of smoke.

***

North, though he’s inwardly panicking, tries to remain calm as he guides the hoard of yetis and elves towards the emergency bunker. It wouldn’t do to cause mass panic, and seeing as some of the elves were starting to freeze solid it was high time to get the workers out of the elements.

Even if it meant leaving Jack behind.

The thought stabs into North’s gut, sending a pain spreading through his belly. North trudges through the snow, trying to ignore the cold seeping into his boots and the biting wind cutting through his red coat, not to mention the cold stone seemingly lodging itself into his gut.

Eventually the large group does find the old shelter, and within the hour everyone’s settled enough that North can feel guiltless as he draws three yetis off to the side and asks them to fetch the other Guardians. He’d need backup on this one, and not just because of his inability to get into the dome.

The Baba Yaga was a formidable enemy, if not, for lack of a better term, _batshit insane_.

North paces through the main room of the bunker, doing his best to not freak out.

He untimely fails.

He worries for Jack, obviously. He’s terrified that he’s not going to be fast enough and Jack will be dead by the time North can get to him and-

North continues pacing until the Guardians show up, slowly wearing a path in the old wooden floors of the bunker.

Aster appears first through a hole in the floor, face gruff with barley controlled worry. The rabbit takes one look around the room and his expression sinks when he notices what’s missing.

“Jack?” He asks, looking North dead in the eye. The Cossack simply shakes his head and sighs, dropping into a rickety wooden chair nearby.

“Pitch took ze Pole.” North says softly. “Jack didn’t make it out.” 

Bunny’s eyes widen at this before narrowing into slits. “ _Pitch_.” He spits, “When I get my hands on him...” The sentence dissolves into a mixture of swearing and growling as the swishing sound on sand announces Sandy’s presence.

When North repeats the story to the little golden man, Sandy’s face goes blank with horror, and sand images snap into place above him.

A little picture of Jack, alive and well, followed by a tiny Pitch attacking, and then followed up by a Jack with almost cartoonish “x” shapes where Jack’s eyes were.

North shakes his head at that. “No, I believe Jack to still be alive.” Is all he can say, because in all honesty he doesn’t _know_.

Sandy’s face, if possible, goes even more worried as another sand image appears, this time of an oversized Pitch holding a bird cage with a tiny Jack in it, laughing as the tiny Jack let out high pitched wails of terror.

North’s face darkens nastily, before he reaches a massive hand and swipes at the image, dispersing it with a growl-yell toned “ _Jack is FINE._ ”

The other Guardians go silent at this, staring at their leader in a mixture of concern and apprehension as the sand Jack’s cries cut off.

Tooth is the first to approach North.

“I’m sure he is, Nick.” She says softly. “Jack’s a strong boy, he knows the Pole even better than you do. We just have to go in and get him.”

North sighs, but nods all the same. “I’m worried Toothy.” He says softly, dejectedly.

“I know,” She responds quietly, “We all are. But we need to trust Jack on this. He can take care of himself North.”

“B’sides.” Bunny cuts in, “Frostbite’s not going to go down that easily. Pitch’s got another thing commin if he thinks Jackie’s going to just keel over without any effort!”

North laughs at that, nodding along. “We must find way into ze Pole!” The Russian declares, standing proud.

“We can try my tunnels,” Bunny offers, “You never know how far down that shield out there goes, yeah?”

The rabbit thumps his foot twice against the flooring, opening a tunnel identical to the one he’d come from, and gestures for them all to hop in.

They do, only briefly noting when the tunnel closes over their head once again.

Bunny leads them forwards through the earthen tunnel, only stopping with a look upwards after around ten minutes.

“Looks like the field didn’t expect me!” Bunny laughs triumphantly, “The main room of the Pole is right above us.” 

The Guardians all laugh happily. Bunny opens an exit above them, and they all scurry out ready for battle.

However, they couldn’t have expected the wave of Nightmares that slammed right into them the moment they left the tunnels. It was only minutes before Bunnymund fell, followed quickly by Tooth, then Sandy.

Pitch laughs as each falls, until it’s only North left behind. That’s when the horror starts.

“He cried for you.” Pitch says loudly, “Your Jack. He screamed for his precious _daddy_ when I ripped him limb from limb. And oh, it took so long for him to bleed out even after that, North, you should have seen it, crying for you and begging for mercy. It was... _delicious_.”

North doesn’t know enough to call Pitch’s bluff, and thus can only howl in rage and attempt a rage fueled attack on the Nightmare king.

It fails.

North falls to his knees and drops his sabres in exhaustion, defeat growing inevitable.

The last thing North sees before everything disappears into black is a grinning set of shark like teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit I forgot to post the last three chapters to AO3... WHOOPS.


	9. In Which Exposition is Given

**CHAPTER NINE: IN WHICH WE GET EXPOSTION AND ALL IT ENTAILS.**

Jack finds himself in the catacombs again, though this time not alone.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Death says casually after dropping the child rather unceremoniously on the icy floor. Jack just scoffs, standing and brushing himself off.

“Thanks for the save, though,” Jack says softly, only feeling slightly awkward. Death just hums to themself, casually twirling their staff every once and a while.

“You looked in need of assistance.” Death drawls, “I decided to give it. Don’t get used to such things, I’m not supposed to interfere as much as I already do.”

Jack just shrugs, slumping down onto the ground with his back against the wall, at least catching his breath.

“What is her _problem_ , seriously?” Jack asks, “That crazy witch is completely nutso.”

Death just shakes their head. “She wasn’t always. The Baba Yaga.”

“What happened to her?” Jack asks, curious.

“Terrible things.” Death says softly, “Things I truly wouldn’t wish on anyone. And I am a _vengeful_ son of a bitch when I want to be.”

Jack giggles at that, before coughing to try and cover it up. “Can you tell me? What happened to make her that bonkers?” He says it quietly, trying to not tip Death’s hand in the other direction.

“No.” Death mutters. “But I can show you.”

A swirl of smoke branches from the arms of Death’s cloak, quickly surrounding Jack, forcing the frost child to close his eyes, as well as cough and splutter as the brimstone smelling smoke forces it’s way into his lungs.

When the smoke clears they’re no longer in the catacombs.

“What...?” Jack coughs, rubbing at his watering eyes. “Where are we?”

“Germany.” Death says calmly, striding forwards into the woods they’d found themselves in. It’s a nice little forest, calm with a soft, nurturing tone to it. It’s the peak of summer, from what it looks like, and though the temperature would be killing Jack at this point he feels nothing.

“We’re about six hundred years in the past.” Death supplies. “Back before even your North had been born. What we’re in is a memory, as this is a fixed time point. I can’t change anything in the slightest, only revisit.”

Jack nods, scurrying to keep up with death as they stride forwards. The woods begin to clear, and the two eventually hit a small village, only looking to house around fifty people.

“This is the town that will eventually grow to be Berlin.” Death says. “Though, that is long in the future. However, at this exact moment, the city is under a rather deadly curse.”

As if on cue people begin to creep from their homes, thin and sickly and obviously ill. Jack’s heart breaks for them, especially the small children he sees nearly starved to death. However, he knows he can’t do anything. These people are all long dead.

“Though, happily, a local woman had found the cure.”

Death and Jack followed the sickly people marching to the town square, where a frazzled but beautiful looking woman was handing out cups of a stew looking concoction, which she ladled from a massive cauldron looking stew pot set before her. The woman smiles as she hands the people their cures, never taking payment and brushing off thanks, her vibrant green eyes bright with joy.

Jack watched as she was joined by a man, with who she shared a brief kiss, and a little boy, only a toddler really, who she picked up and cuddled with one arm as she scooped the potion with the other.

“That woman was called Gretelda.” Death continues his monotone narration. “The man is her husband Wilhelm, and the boy is their son, Ambros. At this point they’ve got a second child on the way, though it’s not quite ready yet.”

Jack smiles at the happy family, watching as Gretelda hands Ambros back to his father, who ferries the boy away so she can continue her work. Now that he actually looked, he could see the roundness of her stomach under her baggy clothing.

“However, it wasn’t to last. Two weeks later everything went wrong.”

The image dissolves into smoke, before reappearing in the same town square, this time late at night. The square is alit with torches from the villagers, all of them right as rain and healthy, though screaming their heads off in anger.

“BURN THE WITCH!” They shriek, men and women and children alike. “Burn the she devil who’s brought Satan’s dark magic into our homes!”

Jack hears a woman screaming, and turns around to see Gretelda looking absolutely terrified in her nightclothes, struggling to get away from the two men who held her arms to keep her from running. Other members of the mob hold onto her husband and child, all of whom struggle in their own rights for freedom. Jack watches in shock as the townspeople cry for the blood of the woman who’d saved them all.

“I’m not a witch!” Gretelda shrieks in fear, “I go to church, just like you all, I wear the lord’s cross around my neck! I’m not a witch...” She dissolves into sobbing, her voice cracking in fear.

“And yet you work the devil’s magic! You consort with a demon!” One of the men points to Wilhelm, “You create _Satan spawn_ with the devil himself!” Another finger is jabbed at Ambros, who looks scared out of his mind but confused at the same time.

“I do not!” Gretelda cries, “I would _never_!”

“Destroy her companion and spawn!” A voice calls from the back of the crowd. “End her lies once and for all!”

Both husband and wife fight harder at that, even as husband and son are dragged to the rickety gallows that had appeared in the square.

“ _No_!” Gretelda shrieks, “NO please god no, stop this madness, _I saved all of you from the very brink of death_!”

The ropes are placed around Wilhelm’s and Ambrose’s necks, tightened as Jack’s stomach did flip flops within him. Death stands by sullenly as the lever is pulled and the snapping of two necks is heard.

Gretelda screams louder, crying for her husband and child as the townspeople drag her away.

Jack feels like throwing up.

The scene dissolves into smoke again.

“They tortured her for three days.” Death says sullenly. “They tried to get her to admit to witchcraft. She refused. For that they broke her ribs, nose, and many of her fingers. She lost a total of six teeth. However, the worst was when they went for the eyes.”

Jack shudders as they find themselves in a small, dark hallway, outside of a door. From within they can hear Gretelda screaming in pain. The sound of fists on face, chest, and the crunch of feet on fingers. The woman screams in pain, sobbing that _I’m not a witch I swear to all that is holy! Just kill me already I beg of you, you’ve already taken all you could from me!_

Jack shudders as the screaming goes up an octave, only to harshly cut off.

“The ripped out her eyes.” Death says calmly. Jack stares at him in horror. “She passed out in pain when they did, though she must not have known that the last thing she was ever going to see was the people who had betrayed her.

“After the torture they put her to death.”

Once more the scene dissolves into the town square. Two men drag out a bloodied Gretelda, no longer bright and vibrant. Her face is screwed up in rage as she’s dragged to the gallows, her empty eye sockets staring black and deathly towards the crowd.

“A plague upon you _all_!” She screams as she’s lead up the stairs. “I WILL HAUNT YOU UNTIL YOU ARE ALL IN HELL!” The rope goes around her neck. “You’re right! The demons are already within you! I REGRET EVER SAVING YOU ASSHOLES!”

The lever is pulled.

Jack looks away.

He only hears the rope snap.

Jack turns in shock as Gretelda hits the ground, shock also upon her features. The rope had broken, old and weathered as it was. She gasps for air and clings at her neck, feeling the noose still tight around. The villagers all stare in shock, before the first call goes out.

“WITCHCRAFT!”

And like that the mob snaps to life again. Gretelda turns to run, but her injuries quickly bring her down again. The mob grabs at her, dragging her towards the cemetery. Jack has to run to keep up, though Death just kind of... glides there. When Jack arrives he can see the group clustered around a grave, trying to force a terrified Gretelda into a plain wooden coffin. She grabs at the edges with broken fingers, sobbing for god to help her with black eyes.

A silver cross peaks out from the folds of her cloak, bright and shiny and covered in blood.

Eventually the mob wins. Even after they nail the lid of the coffin in, Gretelda can be heard screaming to be let out, bashing against the lid of the coffin, making the whole pine box rattle and shake with the force of it. The townspeople unceremoniously toss her into an unmarked grave before shoveling dirt on top.

Gretelda’s screams get quieter and quieter, muffled by the earth on top of her. Jack’s got tears in his eyes, though he won’t admit to it. Death puts a hand on his shoulder, and continues his commentary.

“She was down there for two hours.” He said. “She was still alive when a constable from a nearby town arrived to put a stop to everything. He dug her up and attempted to help her. She ran into the woods, and wasn’t heard from in the town for a long time.

“She ran for hours, blind, terrified, and scared. Two months later she lost her unborn baby, her body unable to keep up with it’s injuries and pregnancy both.”

Jack allows a few tears to fall. The scene dissolves back into the catacombs of the North Pole. Jack shivers as Death’s bodiless voice echoes around him.

“She grew older. Stories of a crazy old woman who lived in the woods began to grow around Germany. This legend eventually grew to become known as the Baba Yaga.”

Jack shudders, knowing from the start what had happened. Suddenly her nightmare made so much sense. She had been dreaming of being _hanged_.

“She was a strange case.” Death continues. “She was supposed to die through her hanging, but she did not. When she did run her human life through, she was in fact sent down to Hell. But she escaped. Turned right around and ran all the way back into the human world. And thus, the Baba Yaga became a spirit, just like you and North and Pitch. In doing so, she created a fixed time point around herself and embedded herself into the time stream even after her time was up.”

“Immortal.” Jack stutters.

“Yes. Though, ironically, the legend surrounding her grew to be that of a witch, and thus, when she came back she was a witch. And she never did get her eyesight back; it was too damaged to do so. She was _pissed_ let me tell you. Though I think she put her new powers to good use.”

“What did she do?”

The question hangs in the air until a third voice echoes from behind Jack.

“I burnt that village to the fucking _ground_.”

***

 North paces the confines of his cell to keep himself busy. Eight paces long, ten wide. North should know, he built the thing, but it keeps his mind off his own imprisonment and the just barely visible limp forms of his comrades in a separate cell. Why they decided to isolate North, he’ll never know, though it may be bait for Jack.

That is if Jack’s still running around.

Bah, what is he saying? Jack was a grand warrior, not as much as his papa granted, but a good fighter nonetheless. His Jack would be just fine, North was sure of it. Because if he wasn’t... well North isn’t even going to think about it.

So North paces and ignores the mounting danger and tries to draw his mind from images of his child dead in a ditch somewhere.

Because Pitch is a lying liar who lies all the time. Pitch couldn’t be trusted. Ever. So he had to lying about already having killed Jack.

Right?

North’s musing is broken by a muffled thumping and shouting from the outside hallway. North watches in curiosity as the door leading to the cells opens with a creek, revealing two figures shorter figures, one struggling against the other’s hold.

“Hot _damn_ kid will you just... FUCKIN’ _STOP_ my god!” The Baba Yaga shrieks to her captive as she drags them into the room. North sees a head of white hair.

The boy struggles valiantly, even when the witch smacks him upside the head and screams at him. North springs to the front of his cell, staring as Baba Yaga tosses her prisoner into the cell to the left of North’s own. Jack hisses and spits at her, even as she flips him the bird with a gnarled hand and goes to storm out of the room.

Jack, perfect, _alive_ little Jack shouts something that makes her instantly stop and her back tense under layers of black fabric.

“How old was he? Ambros, I mean.”

The Baba Yaga turns back and sneers at him, whirling around rather dramatically.

“He was _five_.” She hisses, “When they strung him up like nothing more than meat. But remember, brat, that just because you know my oh so very _tragic_ history, you can’t just pull it up and instantly make me switch sides.”

Jack’s face falls, as though he had been banking on this plot to work. The Baba Yaga just laughs and turns back to the door with a few parting words.

“Don’t try to make me remember my humanity with the thing that made me lose it. You’re just setting yourself up for failure there.”

And with that, she stalks from the room and slams the door shut, plunging the room into darkness again.

***

Jack’s head _hurt_ s. As does his arms, and his chest, and his legs. So basically his _everything_ hurts. He’d fought tooth and claw when the Baba Yaga had found him, though she still managed to get the drop on him with a harsh strike to the back that he’d never even seen coming. Death was long gone, though for what reason Jack can’t really guess.

Either way, he’s now flat on his back in a tiny cell with a body-ache and no plan _at all_.

“Jack?” Says a soft voice to his right. North. Jack’s up in half a second and crawling over to the set of bars separating Jack’s cell from North’s.

“North?” He asks happily as the Russian appears through the gloom. Tears spring up in Jack’s eyes as North grabs at his bruised face, but Jack’s a _man_ dammit he can’t cry. North looks no worse for wear, though Jack knows he must look like shit at this point.

North just does his best to draw Jack close through the bars, and Jack shrinks into the touches as much as he can. North chuckles slightly as Jack squirms.

“My boy,” He says happily. “I am so glad to see you well!”

“Same to you North,” Jack whispers.

They’re both stupid boys who are bad with feelings, they both know, so they just allow themselves to sit in the cell in silence and be thankful that the other is okay and fine and they’re not alone anymore and.

Jack and North sit in their respective cells for at least a few hours. Jack’s still shaking when he finally snaps the silence in half with a small sentence that’s nearly inaudible.

“Dad.” He whispers. “I’m scared.”

Despite Jack openly accepting North as his father, he’d never really called him Dad, even as a small child. Everyone around him had always referred to North as North, and to a very small Jack Frost, that clicked in his tiny snow addled mind. When he grew old enough to know the difference, he called North by his name in a show for independence, for the need of a small revolution against the forces that kept him locked away in the Pole for his entire life.

For Jack to be saying such things now meant that he was fearful and panicky and highly upset, and it hurt North to know his child was in such a state and that North could do nothing about it.

So the Russian simply throws an arm through the bars of their cells and wraps it around the shuddering shoulders of his son.

“I know, my boy.” He mummers back, “I know.”

Eventually Jack falls asleep, though North doesn’t.

North would stay awake for the rest of the night, protecting his child from the outside forces.

Like a good dad would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't stop won't stop


	10. In Which we Meet Our Ends

**CHAPTER TEN: IN WHICH WE FIND OUR ENDS**

Jack remains huddled next to North for the whole night. North doesn’t mind, even as the bars dig into his arms and his hands grow blue due to the child’s negative body temperature.

But North doesn’t mind.

Because as Jack does his best to bury his face into North’s coat despite the harsh metal separating them, North can’t help but have his heart melt. Jack wasn’t one for physical contact usually, so any cuddles are awesome cuddles in North’s book.

His fellow Guardians remain unconscious, by Pitch’s magic no doubt, as they’re now entering hour sixteen of sleep. Somehow, North manages to slip into a stupor. Halfway between sleep and consciousness, he rests, watching the rising and falling of his child’s chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

To North, it was.

However, around hour seventeen, Pitch comes back.

Jack is startled awake from Pitch’s rather loud entrance. That is to say, Pitch appearing silently from the shadows and the Baba Yaga trailing behind and shouting in her scratchy voice.

“I’m just saying,” She says loudly, “It’s not like you _have_ to kill them, right? Haven’t you ever heard of self-fulfilling prophecies douche bag? _Are you even listening to me!?_ ”

Pitch ignores the annoyed yelling of his companion and instead turns to North and Jack. North, out of pure instinct, reaches for Jack and settles a large hand on Jack’s lower arm, stilling the shaking child.

Jack shudders but holds still, managing a weak little glare towards Pitch. The nightmare king simply smirks and flamboyantly draws out a key from the shadows, unlocking Jack`s cell with a flourish.  Jack hisses and jumps away as his cell is swarmed with Nightmares, grabbing at him and trying to rip him away from North.

The Russian grabs fistfuls of Jack’s hoodie, and Jack clings back just as hard, both doing their damndest to stay together even as Jack’s grip begins to waver and slip. North pulls harder, but fails to keep Jack to him as his child is forcibly ripped from him.

Both father and son let out an outraged shout at this, though both know each other well enough to hear the underlying panic underneath the tones. Jack shrieks as he’s drawn from the cell, fearlings grabbing at his arms and dragging him away. Pitch remains even as the violently struggling ice child is forcibly removed from the room.

North sends the shade a look to kill, looming and glaring from behind his bars. Jack’s screaming turns panicked as it fades into inaudibility, one last word reaching the room’s occupants before disappearing entirely.

“ _North_!”

The Cossack stiffens, a dark look marring his usually jolly face.

The Baba Yaga stands in the back of the room, looking intently at her feet, only flinching as Jack’s shouting turns to screaming, before becoming a statue once again.

Pitch just laughs.

“I hope you had a lovely visit.” He says in his shitty voice, and _you know the one_. “Because I’m afraid he’s not coming back this go around.”

North just laughs, trying to not show the course of ice cold fear trailing down his spine at the words.

“My boy is stronger than you think, shadow.” North spits. “And when I am free, there is not a hole, not a cave, not a _box_ , you will be able to hide in. Because I am going to find you, and when I do, _I will kill you_.”

Pitch flinches, but grins like a shark all the same.

“Very well then,” Pitch laughs. “I hope you enjoy wiping blood off the floors, there’s going to be quite a bit of it left when I’m done. So sorry.”

He leaves, nodding to the Baba Yaga before exiting the door and following Jack out of sight. The witch just shrugs and thunks down onto the floor, sitting heavily against the wall. North mirrors her against the side bars of his cell. Their eyes meet with matching glares, and the Baba Yaga lets out an indignant huff before crossing her arms and turning away.

They wait.

***

Jack’s dragged kicking and screaming along the wooden floorboards, forced down the paneled halls. The fearlings keep their grips on his arms though, and he’s eventually brought to the globe room. They drag him towards the globe along the balcony. They then, with no ceremony at all, toss him right over the edge.

Jack shrieks as the ground rises up to meet him, his arms flying in front of his face as his eyes slam closed. The Baba Yaga had taken his staff when they’d fought, and thus the wind was unable to carry him. His mind, for some reason, flies back to a time when he’d crash landed in the workshop and broken his arm.

Though he’s pretty sure this’ll be a bit worse than that.

But just before he hits the ground, he feels a textured... _thing_ wrap around his waist and fling him back up towards the ceiling. Jack screeches as his stomach protests at the sudden change in direction, and his eyes fly open to meet those of the fearling currently pulling him upwards. Jack can swear he sees it smirk before he’s again tossed into the air, flying around like a ragdoll though the Pole, screaming all the way as the fearlings draw their sick amusement by repeating the process over and over again.

Jack’s gunna throw up, no doubt about it.

The fearlings fling him across the room, stopping him only just before he hits the ground. They toss him between themselves, and though Jack can’t exactly be certain he’d wager there are at least fifty of the bloody things crawling through the woodworking at this point.

Its’ only by Pitch’s command that the fearlings stop their game, dropping Jack rather harshly to the ground in front of the Nightmare King. Well wasn’t this familiar.

Pitch just leers at Jack, who does his best not to wilt under the glare and rather failing.

Yeah, Jack’s definitely going to puke.

***

North glares at the Baba Yaga. The Baba Yaga glares at North.

They both try to pointedly ignore the screaming of a certain white haired child that is muffled by the door. North twitches slightly, his hands curling and uncurling with each scream, the stress of being unable to go and grab his kid and _protect_ nearly tearing him apart.

What North notices, though it rather shocks him, is that the Baba Yaga also flinches with each cry. Her face looks uncomfortable, as though a great inner debate was raging, though about what North can’t really comprehend. Her fingers twirl around a small silver cross hanging from her neck, softly running along it’s rusted, dented exterior.

This goes on for twenty minutes after Pitch leaves. The two remain silent, listening to Jack’s screaming get more and more scared and pained. North’s going to rip Pitch’s head off.

But as North’s trying to come up with the most creative and painful ways to murder Pitch, the Baba Yaga’s debate comes to an explosive end.

“ _Fuck_!” She suddenly screeches, shooting up from her sitting position and stomping over to North’s cell.

“I can’t fucking do it _god dammit_.” The witch hisses. She shoves a key into the cell’s lock before throwing the door open violently. North stays still, stunned even as she withdraw his swords and Jack’s staff from the shadows in her cloak, throwing them both at his feet. The Russian looks at the German in shock, locking eyes with her. She doesn’t look directly at him, but he can see the pained anger in them.

“Well?” She yells at him, stepping aside and leaving the door wide open. “Are you gunna go and save your fucking kid or what?!”

This breaks North from his trance, and he quickly gathers the weapons and dashes from the cell. Just before he leaves the cellblock, he turns around and looks at her once more.

“Thank you.” He says softly, looking back at the back of the blind old woman who’d set him free.

“Just go before I change my mind.” She spits back, not facing him even when her voice cracks.

He goes, doing his best at ignoring the soft sniffling sobs coming from the cellblock as he does.

***

North runs. He runs faster than he has in three hundred years. The last time he’d ever gotten anywhere close to this speed was when he’d just heard of a certain white haired child who was in need of aid. Jack’s screaming had cut off, causing even more reason for the quick pace. As the Russian gets closer, however, he can hear Pitch’s laughter ringing through the halls.

This was officially all kinds of not good.

When he reaches a doorway he knows leads to the main globe room, North knows enough to halt the rampage for just a second. He silently creeps towards the doorway, peering in without a sound and trying to assess the situation.

What he sees makes his vision goes red.

Jack lies still on the ground; the only signs of life being the steady-but-quick movements of his chest. Pitch looms over the child, obviously gloating as he rears back and uses the nightmare sand to toss the already bleeding child across the room. Jack shrieks as he hits the wall, the sound of snapping bone accompanying him. Blood splays from the child’s mouth and nose, as if suddenly started by the hit. Jack slams into the ground below, lying in a pool of his own blood.

He doesn’t get back up.

North’s already running when Pitch draws up a scythe of black sand, so dark it seems to swallow the light from around it. The shadowmancer goes to bring the weapon down upon the prone child’s chest with the intent of a slow and painful death.

North’s only barely able to shove a sword in the way, managing to direct the blade away from Jack’s torso and into the wood flooring a hairsbreadth to the left of Jack’s heart.

Pitch hisses, glaring at North as the Russian uses the full of his weight to push the shade away, a body check for the ages. Pitch slides a good two feet away, allowing North the space to place himself between Jack and Pitch. The Russian holds up his swords threateningly, eyes as cold as steel. Pitch’s glow with an insane fire and his ridiculous scythe shifts into a slightly smaller version.

North makes the first move.

Lunging forwards with a hearty bellow, North launches himself towards his lifelong enemy, swords already making a beeline towards Pitch’s chest. Before contact can be made Pitch slips into the shadows on the ground, disappearing from view. North whips around, having enough experience fighting such a tricky villain to know to watch his back and watch it well.

Pitch liked to strike from behind.

So he really couldn’t have predicted the head on collision that hit him as he turned back around.

The blow is enough to crack a rib, and North can feel that it does, and send the old man sprawling to the ground. His sabers go flying in opposite directions. North scrambles for distance as Pitch takes it away, stalking closer like a panther to it’s prey.

“I have no idea who let you out,” Pitch begins happily, materializing a dagger in his hand. North shudders as it reflects the lights of the globe. “And I have realized I really don’t care. Because now I get to have _two_ enemies dead for the price of one. It’s like _Christmas_.”

Pitch’s grin has nothing but malice in it. North refuses to show fear, always has and always will, so the look of shock he shows as he looks past Pitch is rather confusing. Until a third voice sounds through the amphitheatre.

“I let him out.” The Baba Yaga sniffles, rubbing at her nose violently. “I let him out because it’s not right, Pitch, and you know it.”

Pitch swirls around, shocked and angry.

“ _Traitor_!” He hisses, “How could you?”

She rubs a palm into her eye. “You know why. This isn’t okay. I will not let another innocent child be murdered because of something they couldn’t control. I don’t give a flying fuck if I have to cut you down myself. _I will not let you do this_.”

She stands taller at the last statement, her voice becoming stronger as she says her piece. The glint of a silver cross shines from her hand. Pitch shudders slightly, anger coursing through his entire being.

“You can leave.” She continues, rubbing her fingers along the cross. “You can go back and scare the brats and do whatever. I don’t care. But this is over.”

Pitch does not respond well to this.

With an enraged yell, he sends a hoard of shadows at his friend of four hundred years. She deftly dodges, simply stepping out of the way. He continues to throw shadows at the crone, and she continues to slip through the cracks and away, no matter what he throws.

She does not attack.

“Be merciful to me, O God,” She whispers, rolling away from another attack that shatters a window behind her.

“ Because of your constant love.”

She redirects a shadow, sending it flying back at Pitch, slowly starting to toss attacks back at him. Pitch’s rage grows the more times he misses, and North can only watch and back towards one of his swords, doing his best to slip out of the line of fire and towards his unconscious child.

“Because of your great mercy,” The Baba Yaga murmurs as the floor around Pitch begins to warp and twist before cracking and bending upwards, creating a field of razor sharp shards. The shade hisses, barely escaping being impaled. The wind outside the windows howls, rattling the very bones of the Pole.

“Wipe away my sins!” Her voice gains ground as the glass from the broken window begins to glow and rise from it’s place on the ground. The shards all orient themselves with their sharpest edges towards Pitch before suddenly launching forwards at a breakneck pace, turning into something akin to a razor sharp bullet.

Pitch is only able to slip out of the way through the use of his shadows. He retaliates with another round of nightmare sand, which the Baba Yaga simply forces away with a single hand.

“Wash away all my evil!” The prayer is insanely loud now, as loud as if shouted into a megaphone. The noise is enough that North can feel it in his chest, the syllables bouncing around the Pole and far beyond. The Russian hardly even notices as one of his swords goes flying past his head and into the Baba Yaga’s hand. Pitch responds by summoning a sword of his own.

They sprint at each other, even as the Baba Yaga says her final verse.

“AND MAKE ME CLEAR FROM MY-” It’s loud enough to make North’s ears ring. Pitch and the Baba Yaga meet each other, and the prayer is cut off rather violently as Pitch drives his sword right into the cloaked chest before him.

The old woman stutters, clutching at the sand impaling her. Her eyes go wide even as she sways on her feet.

“Sin.” She breathes, barely loud enough to be heard, before toppling backwards and onto the ground. The sabre in her hand clatters to the ground beside her. The necklace in her hand falls apart as it hits the ground, sending rosary beads in every direction and a tarnished silver cross sliding along the floor.

North’s eyes go wide in shock. Even if he had considered the woman an enemy, she had died for _Jack_. Died for his child. Because it was obvious she was dead. No one, not even an immortal, could have survived that.

The Baba Yaga’s six hundred years of terror has been ended.

Pitch has the gall to look saddened, even as he rips the sword from her unmoving chest with an unrelenting force.

North’s already up and running before Pitch can turn back around.

The sabre not commandeered by the witch lay to North’s far left. He makes a dive for it, grabbing the blade and rolling into a crouch, which allows him to block the incoming scythe with an accuracy only found through vigorous years of muscle training and reflexes.

Pitch and North trade blow after blow, clashing with such force that it would shatter the bones in their arms if they were mortal. Each connection between metal and sand makes a large _CRACK_ ring through the pole, almost like thunder without lightning. Neither man gets the upper hand, even as both grow more and more bloodied as time passes. North’s surely broken ribs send a shock of pain through his spine with each breath, though Pitch seems to be favoring one arm over the other.

Neither notice the white haired figure slowly pulling themself along the floor behind them.

Jack coughs harshly, muffling it into the sleeve of his filthy sweater. He pulls back and notes, with no small degree of shock, that the sleeve comes back with a little bit of blue blood on it. Shaking it off, he continues, slowly regaining feeling in his legs as he knows his spine quickly repairs itself. Pitch had easily broken it, sending his body into shock. Jack’s never had experience with a hard enough hit to send him into a unwanted nap before, but he’d heard of it from North.

First, your body basically shut itself down. Turned the system off, as it were. Second, it would quickly and rather painfully repair the worst of the damage quickly. Thirdly, it would harshly jolt you awake and force you into wanting to move and hide so it could finish the job.

Jack’s kind of ignoring step three.

Because as he looks to the left, he can see North slowly begin to lose the battle, Pitch forcing the Russian towards the edge of the platform. Jack continues towards his destination, only half noticing the trail of blue he leaves behind as he does so. Pain spreads through his torso, down his legs and up his arms, but he keeps going.

Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

So he crawls until he gets where he wants to go. By that point he’s strong enough to stand as he grabs what it is he wants, it weighs heavy in his hands.

North and Pitch are duking it out, though Pitch now has North backed up against the railing of the landing with nowhere else to go. Jack steps quietly up towards Pitch’s turned back, face resolved even as he occasionally stumbles.

The bloody sword he’d retrieved from near the Baba Yaga’s corpse calls for use, singing through his hands and into his heart.

Pitch needed to die.

And so the son takes up his father’s sword, and wields it as the father once did against the enemy.

North’s eyes go wide as he spots Jack standing behind Pitch, and opens his mouth to shout.

“JACK-” North shouts, raising a hand towards his child. Pitch starts and begins to turn around.

But Jack gets there first.

Using the weight of the sabre, Jack swings it as one would a bat, slicing deep and jagged into Pitch’s chest. Jack feels the crunch of bones and the gush of skin and organs under the harsh metal. He hears Pitch’s agonized scream, almost inhuman in both intensity and the way it sounds like thousands of screams layered on top of each other into an ethereal howl. He sees the blade enter the shade’s body, sees it exit in a spray of black, oozing blood.

He tastes his own blood where he’d bitten his tongue.

Pitch’s screaming stops as the Nightmare King disappears into the shadows, splitting apart in a show of light and shadow.

North stares at Jack in shock, and Jack simply sobs in response. Tears track down his cheeks, both from terror and relief. North begins to walk towards Jack, stepping softly and carefully, approaching the child as one would a scared animal.

Jack simply shudders in response, dropping the sabre as if it had burned him, before falling to the ground in a dead faint as exhaustion and injuries take him over again.

North catches him before he hits the ground. He’s happy to feel a stable pulse. Just asleep, then.

The Cossack simply sits for a while, cradling Jack close, content to just hold his kid and shudder as the worry and fear and _anguish_ of the past few days wash over him like a wave.  He’d have sat there for hours, if not for the disgusting reek of brimstone that announced an old acquaintance’s prescience. He still pulls his remaining sword out, just out of habit than actual preservation.

“North.” Death greets. “We both know it’s not your time yet, so how about you put that away and we can talk like adults?”

North just nods, but still sets Jack’s unconscious form down and standing in front of him.

“You will not take him.” North hisses, puffing out his chest and trying to look intimidating with a broken rib and probably a few fractured bones.

Death just shrugs off his intimidation and walks towards him.

“No, I won’t.” Death complies, “Not yet, anyways. Time is the devourer of all things, after all.”

North just keeps a glare on them, even as they walk past and towards the Guardians symbol, atop which the corpse of the Baba Yaga lay like a warped sacrifice.

Death crouches in front of the body of the old woman, before waving a bony hand in front of her face.

North can’t help but feel he’s been here before.

The corpse twitches a little, shuddering grotesquely, as a semi-transparent hand forces it’s way from the corpse, followed by an arm, shoulders, head, and all the trimmings.

The soul of the Baba Yaga is vastly different from the body North knew her to inhabit. The soul is young and pretty, only around her late twenties maximum. She looks around, a fearful expression on her face. The expression suddenly slips into shock as she stares at her own shaking hands. When she opens her mouth, no noise is made but still words are heard in the whispery way of the dead.

_I can see_ it says. She looks around in wonder, every once in a while going back to looking to her corpse.

_Is that what I looked like?_

Death nods, holding out a boned hand towards her. “It is. Now it’s time for you to head back to the afterlife. No more second, third, fourth, or whatever chances.”

_NO!_ The response is violent, her entire body tensing as the yell echoes through North’s mind. She makes to back towards the window, away from the cloaked figure before her. _I’m not done yet! I’ve yet to repay my sins or save my family! I CANNOT LEAVE YET!_

Death just sighs before tapping their scythe on the ground twice. The Baba Yaga, _Gretelda_ , twitches back again, but stands her ground. A swirling void of black opens behind Death, not unlike one of North’s portals if not for the colour change, eventually spitting out another white, ethereal figure.

_Gret_? Comes a second voice, male, from the second figure. A man stands, dressed in old German style clothing, staring at Gretelda in shock.

_Will?_ Her startled response sounds quiet, almost scared. The spirit woman takes a halting step forwards, as if moving would cause him to disappear. However, once she’s established that it won’t, she sprints towards him, running to close the gap as fast as she can. Wilhelm opens his arms, catching her as she slams into him with such force it almost sends them both to the ground.

North watches rather awkwardly as they sob and clutch at each other, refusing to let go. Gretelda shakes his shoulders as she hugs him closer to her, her whole body wracking with the tears running through her.

_I tried so hard to get you back_ , she wails. _It was so hard, Will, I almost lost myself. I did lose myself._

Wilhelm just shushes her and holds her close, even as Death taps Gretelda on her shoulder. She turns to them with fear in her eyes, clinging to her husband like a lifeline.

_I can’t go to hell_. She says softly. _They’re not in hell, I can’t go without them_!

Death just shrugs. “Apparently,” They begin, “Since a certain someone prayed for forgiveness while trying to right a wrong and dying in the process, that certain someone got the guy upstairs pity. Or approval. One or the other, doesn’t really matter.”

Her eyes grow hopeful, and Death just shrugs again.

“I have no idea how you cheated the system _again_ , but you’re going with hubby dearest.”

They both just deflate at this, relief almost tangible. North can _see_ Death rolling their eye sockets, already herding the lovers away and back into the void. The two swirl away, contented and happy to leave. Death pauses before turning around back and North, offering a small salute. North just laughs and mimics the gesture. Death just smirks, until they too disappear into the portal before it snaps shut with a _crack_.

North goes back to Jack, still sleeping thank god, before picking the child up and cradling him softly.

It was over.

***

Jack wakes somewhere that’s not his bed. At first he’s rather off put by this fact. As awareness creeps back in, however, he notices the sterile smell and quietness of the area around him, which draws him to one final, logical conclusion.

Med ward. _Gross_.

The winter sprite shifts slightly, wincing as this puts stress on his slightly achy arms. His joints creak in protest, but Jack keeps going nonetheless, eventually getting himself sitting up properly to have a look around.

The med ward is white and sterile, as one would assume a hospital would be. Though small, as no one ever really got sick in the Pole, it was well stocked. Jack can attest, having spent much of his youth using up the supply of polysporin and band aids.

Hehe, good times.

Jack lets his eyes wander, noting only slightly the bandage constricting his breathing.  Probably to keep his ribs in place, he thinks, so it’s a good idea to not mess with those.

The frost child lets himself just breathe as the events of the past few days wash over him. He’d attacked Pitch Black, the _boogeyman_ , and had not only lived, he’d _won._ That’s rather a cause for a pat on the back if he does say so himself, but that’s a job for another time.

Jack’s eyes settle on another figure in the bed across from his own, and the mass of red and white quickly tell him who it was. North snores loudly, snorting every once in a while in his sleep. Jack can’t help but giggle at the sight of his guardian so completely out of it, though he’s rather sobered by the sight of bandages covering North’s body.

Jack shudders at how _close_ everything had been, how damn near they’d come to death. With that in mind, he shakily pushes himself to the side of the bed. Pushing to his feet, he takes a few shuddering steps. Confidence built, Jack slowly works across the aisle. Coming up to North’s large bed, he sinks next to his guardian quietly, slipping next to the Russian as carefully as he can so as not to wake the slumbering giant. North snorts once or twice, but remains asleep. Jack slides under the covers before curling up into North’s sides, content to just lay there and sleep for a bit longer.

As Jack drifts off to sleep, he doesn’t notice North’s blue eyes open, nor does he see them soften as they look down upon him. What he does notice, just before sleep takes him, is that North tightens his grip ever so slightly, pulling Jack close in a one armed hug.

And Jack, for the first time in years, sleeps peacefully.

**THE END (sniff, sniff)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented/Favorited/ what-have-you, your support meant a lot guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy hey everybody, first story on AO3! This story's been cross-posted to my Fanfiction account under the same name, and I'll be updating sporadically until I can get all the chapters up on here.


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